


Between Desperate & Divine

by Buffo827, TheArtOfSuicide



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, F/F, F/M, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 70,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22030417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buffo827/pseuds/Buffo827, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtOfSuicide/pseuds/TheArtOfSuicide
Summary: A deeply self-indulgent AU RP in which my partner and I wrote whatever the fuck we wanted and watched the world burn. Enjoy.This roleplay is on indefinite hiatus.
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 42
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ!** What follows is a copied-and-pasted tumblr roleplay between **deetz-n-beej** and myself(tumblr tag: **xxx-strangeandunusual-xxx/xxx-theartofsuicide-xxx** ). They are playing as Betelgeuse, me as Lydia. Because of the nature of roleplay, the point of view changes often and you will see each event as it was perceived by our renditions of these characters. It's being posted here so that we can have a comprehensive archive to look back on and reread easily rather than having to dig through tumblr. Please be warned going in that this may never have a clean or concise ending as that is not the point of roleplay.
> 
> **Reminder that this was something that was meant to be fun, not judged. Therefore constructive criticism is not welcome.**

"What do you think of the house, pumpkin?"

It was okay enough. It wouldn't stay that way for long judging by the way Delia was eyeing the aged wallpaper, crimson lips curled with contempt.

"Delia hates it," she observed coolly before a perfectly formed spider web on the banister caught her attention. Drifting closer, her sharp expression softened just so while she admired the large arachnid responsible for the masterpiece, levitating dead center and awaiting its next meal. Her fingers moved with a quickness that was second-nature, snapping a shot and catching the polaroid all without ever lifting her gaze from the focal piece.

"I could live here."

Her father, who wasn't actually looking for an answer, didn't hear her. He was already off to his own devices while Delia dragged her pet Otho around to sneer and judge and decide how they were going to mutilate the farmhouse. With a heavy sigh, Lydia pinned her veil back, having no use for it indoors.

Time to explore.

* * *

The house on the hill was haunted. This was common knowledge to the residents of Winter River, the same as not crossing the Winter River bridge in a storm or walking past Bill when he started in on one of his stories.

What the people of this small town did not realize was that the house was haunting its ghost every bit as much as he haunted it. He was stuck. _Trapped_. No one had lived there for decades, now and he was going out of his mind with boredom.

That is, until the Deetz family moved in. He did all he could to make the fat man and the redhead see him; spinning his head, ripping it off, even in his attempts to chase them out. While he'd wanted someone here, he sure as hell didn't want this uppity woman and her boring birdwatching husband.

So he hid out in the attic, breaking things to make Delia panic and dropping bugs into Charles' coffee. Until the girl... she _saw_ him. He was sure of it. Her big brown eyes had looked right at him and widened. Smirking down at her from the attic window, he winked playfully.

* * *

It only took one night in the house before Lydia knew that something was off. It was too cold in some places, too hot in others. She would chalk this up to faulty air conditioning if her father hadn't had it updated before they moved in. There was chaotic energy everywhere, like any room was subject to blow and at any moment… but didn't. Her father and Delia seemed oblivious that anything was amiss.

The attic was the only room anyone had yet to tread. It was locked, and even Lydia's deftest picking with a bobby pin late into the night didn't do the trick. Something was pulling her there and she couldn't quite put a name to it.

"What happened to the people who used to live here?" She asked Jane Butterfield, the former proprietor of the house when she came to drop off the skeleton key one day. It was perfect timing. There were movers everywhere. Minutes ago, Lydia stalked had been stalking the yard in an oversized sunhat, trying to avoid getting squished, and snapping photos of the apathetic, emotionless muscle men.

But then she saw it, in the top floor window; a man.

He was only there for a moment, but she knew what she saw. Wild blond hair, sunken pits for eyes, and bold black and white stripes like a prisoner from the past would wear.

"They moved," Mrs. Butterfield brushed her off, "and so did the ones before that and before that… but don't you pay any mind to the rumors. It's not true, not a word of it. _Ghosts_. Have you ever heard anything so silly? I tell you, the things you city slickers come up with. _Why just the other day…_ "

* * *

Betel's mind was racing. If she could see him, maybe she could hear him too. He waited until it was late one night to creep down and stand outside the room that the girl had claimed for her own.

He hummed softly when he peered into the parents' room on the way. The ginger was passed out, clearly aided by some kind of sleeping pill. He took a moment to rummage and turn as much as he could upside down.

Then, the girl. He let himself in, stepping into the shadows at the edge of her bedroom. There were plenty. This teenager seemed to thrive on anything black, and her room reflected this well, save the vibrant walls that her mother had put in.

She was a looker, for sure. Pale, soft-looking skin and long dark hair. Combined with the old fashioned nightgown she had on, she looked like something he might have dreamed up for the spank bank back in his living days.

* * *

That night, Lydia was too worn out from chores and homework to bother with exploring the attic. It could wait for this weekend. Miss Shannon's sucked just as much if not more than the fancy school her father had her attending in New York. There were at least some girls on the fringe there; punks and emos and other weirdos that tolerated her presence well enough. Here, she was the only one.

A wave of cold washed over her as she slept, sending her jolting upright in her blankets, gasping. She could see her breath. The door she remembered closing was open, a vague murmur of the television in her parents' room audible from the hall.

"Hello…?"

She whispered, not really expecting a response, but urged nonetheless. _She wasn't alone._

* * *

Now or never. She was _scared_... he loved that. It had been far too long since he'd heard someone scream. He stepped closer, peering at her. If this girl could be woken by his presence, she was definitely something special.

_Hello...?_

He paused. Who spoke into an empty room unless they knew someone was there? He took a moment to adjust his suit, tightening his tie and running a hand over his hair before stepping into the light.

"Why, hello little girl..."

* * *

From the darkest corner of the room, something moved. Once it fully stepped into the thin stream of moonbeam filtering through the curtain, her breathing stopped entirely.

There was a man in her room.

Reason dictated she should scream, but her lungs wouldn't cooperate. Instead, she remained frozen, chest still and gaze unwavering as a rush of adrenalin shot through her system. More than just a man, he was the vision from the attic; a conglomeration of mold, bloodless flesh, and dirt pushed together into something vaguely human-shaped.

This was the energy she'd been feeling in the house. This was the reason no one stuck around. _What was he going to do?_

"Are you the one who's living in the attic..?" She finally hushed, still quite stationary and wide-eyed in her sea of dark sheets—a small animal caught between fight and flight.

* * *

_Are you the one who's living in the attic..?_

He scoffed and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. His face was illuminated with the click of his lighter, green eyes peering from his sunken sockets.

"I don't live anywhere, babes. I'm dead." He shook his head and took a deep drag. "But I am the one ya saw the other day. And I got questions about that."

He fixed her with a firm look. "How long ya been able to see dead people? Seems like a unique skill. Ain't never met someone like you before, and I've been around a long ass time."

* * *

"Oh," she murmured politely at his admission that he was dead. That made sense. "I didn't know I could see dead people."

That seemed like something she would know about, right? Especially if he was the standard for what dead people apparently looked like. He was smoking a cigarette now.

"Oh! Uhm, actually you can't… _I guess it's okay_ … just let me…"

Through her shock, Lydia scrambled to cross the room in the dark and crack her window. It would just be great to get accused of smoking again when she wasn't even guilty.

With the curtains more fully opened, she could really see the fine details of the moss growing around his mouth, the thick coat of scum on his teeth. _Gross_. Fascinated nonetheless, she withheld any questions or comments that might have offended him and tried to keep her staring to a minimum.

"Is this your house?"

* * *

He rolled his eyes as she opened the window. He could see the way her eyes flashed to it and he took a second out, lighting it and holding it out toward her. "Might as well if the window is open."

He settled at the edge of her bed, his legs spread wide as they often were. He looked her over again now that there was more light. Cute. Tiny.

_Is this your house?_

"Hell no. I'm just stuck here. It's a load of bullshit, babes, I'm tellin ya. I'm Uh... cursed. _Cursed!_ That's it. I'm just a wanderin' soul that got trapped here in this sad nursing home of a house."

* * *

Without a blink of hesitation, Lydia took the cigarette he offered with a genial _thank you_. When a ghost offered you something, you took it. It was only polite. The bed was his territory now, it seemed, and Lydia conceded without a thought, settling at the stool in front of her vanity.

_Trapped._

That was sad. That wasn't what the afterlife should look like.

"I'm trapped here, too," she related back before she could stop herself, then frowned at how emotional and vulnerable a thing that was to say to this man she just met. "Not the same way, but… what's your name? I'm Lydia."

* * *

_I'm trapped here, too_.

Sweet little drama queen. This was going well so far. Better than he'd expected. "Well, it's real nice to meetcha, Lyds, but I uh... Funny story."

He held out his hands as though telling a joke. "I can't tell ya my name! It's uh... it's part of the curse. Say, if you help me with my little uh... mobility issue, I can get you outta here! Easy."

"Ya got a... a notebook or something I can write it down on or... hey! Ya played charades?"

* * *

Cursed? Couldn't say his own name? This was getting more and more exciting by the moment.

"I can't actually leave," she intoned with disappointment, "but I'll help. You don't have to do anything for me. Here, write it down."

She handed him some vanilla-scented stationery and a fountain pen from her vanity, the nice kind she used when writing letters to mother. Unfortunately, his handwriting was horrendous.

"Bartholomew?" She guessed, squinting at the paper after he was done. "Benjamin? Burgermeister?"

* * *

"Aw, come on, babes. Yer what... 16? In my day ya woulda been popping' out babies by now. You can leave! What the hell are yer mom and dad gonna do for ya that you can't?"

He scribbled down his name, his handwriting terrible as ever. He'd never been good at penmanship. He hadn't needed to be.

Her trying to read his name made him growl. "No! Not fucking Burgermeister I... hey!" He pointed to a book on her shelf, hurrying to get it. "Astrology! Ya like stars? I'm named after a star. Or it's named after me‒ it's a point of debate but just... here! Orion. Ya know the names?"

* * *

_What in the hell are yer mom and dad gonna do fer ya that you can't?_

"Pay bills," she sighed in answer, wishing very much to be an adult already and not under their thumb. Or better yet, for her mother to snatch her up and let her come live with her and her boyfriend in Europe. "Own property. Drive. Besides, in _your_ day, I probably wouldn't have been able to vote or do anything fun without some stupid boy's permission. How old are you anyway?"

When he related his name back to astrology and Orion, Lydia knew it immediately.

"Betelgeuse?" She didn't wait for confirmation, confident that she'd gotten it right. "That's a weird name. I guess it's still better than 'Deetz.'"

* * *

The sound of his name made his blood sing. He grinned and reached out to take her hand, perhaps too tightly. "That's it! That's it, babes. And ya just gotta say it twice more for us to blow this popsicle stand."

He squeezed her hand, his expression frantic, nearly manic. "Come on. Come on! Just say it!"

He had been here too long. Fifty years of the same boring house, many of them with said house empty. He was tired of being in time out. Ready to be unleashed... and this little mortal _babe_ was gonna be his salvation.

* * *

Once she uttered his name, the thin thread of patience he was apparently holding onto snapped. He gripped her hand tight, enough to make her wince, and tugged her toward him on the bed despite her resistance. Her heart jumped in her chest at his sudden ferocity. It reminded her that she really didn't know anything about him.

He was talking about taking her somewhere, demanding she release him, almost angrily now.

"You're hurting me," she whimpered, trying in vain to tug her wrist out of his ironclad grip. His hands were large, calloused, and cold, every bit as cold as she'd expect a dead man's to be.

"I already told you I can't go anywhere. Just— just wait a minute!"

* * *

_Just wait a minute!_

He growled and pulled her firmly against him. He was more solid than he perhaps should have been, more _real_ than he should have been.

"I've been waiting longer than you've been alive! More than three times your lifetime, do you understand that? I've been alone here for _fifty years._ You know what that's like?!"

He let her go with a shove, standing up to pace the floor. "This is bullshit! You hate it here, I've seen it on your face. Your father is an idiot and his wife is a bitch. Why would ya stay when you have an out?"

* * *

She caught herself against the dresser when he shoved her, wincing as the knobs dug into her back painfully. He was unhinged. If he kept on like this, it might wake her father and Delia… who wouldn't be able to see him and would accuse her of throwing a fit for attention. If she started spouting off about seeing ghosts, they would throw her right back into that psych ward without a second thought.

Never taking her eyes off of him, she inched around the perimeter of the room to shut the door, provide a bit of muffling for whatever else he might do.

"I'm _sorry_ ," she implored, not quite sure what she was apologizing for, but seeking to placate him before he blew a gasket. "No, I don't know what that's like. I'm trying to _help_ you. Just calm down, okay? Please?"

* * *

He ran his hands through his hair, steam floating off of him as though he were a heat source doused in water. "Calm down. Right... right. I'm calm. I'm cool."

He held his hands out to her, a sly smile sliding over his face. "Common. Help a guy out here! I'm a good guy, I mean. I've been real good to you and yer family so far, ain't I?"

His hands shook slightly, the urge to wrap them around Lydia's throat for teasing him like that making him vibrate. "And I can help ya! Anything you need, babes you just say the word. _Say the fucking words_."

* * *

The longer she held his name trapped between her teeth, the angrier he got. He kept flittering between demanding and pleading, rage and desperation, unable to settle on just one. The sheer intensity of his energy left Lydia confused and cautious. He really wasn't asking for a lot, but he also seemed quite set on taking her with him wherever it was he wanted to go.

"I'm just trying to understand," she rushed out, still trying to calm him, not at all fooled by the play he was putting on. He was _pissed_ and she wasn't sure what she did to earn it.

"I don't know you. You just show up in my room in the middle of the night and shove me around and try to force me to say your name and honestly, it makes me not want to say it at all. I'm not saying I won't," she reassured, seeing the way his heckles rose at her blunt honesty. "But— but you don't get to just act like a jerk and expect me to do favors for you. I don't know if this is even real. What if this is a dream? Where do you want to go? Why do you want to take me with you?"

* * *

"I'm not a jerk you little... _angel_... and this ain't a dream. I want out. Outta this house and back to the world of the dead."

It was a lie, but how was she supposed to know that? "I just wanna be free. And I can take ya anywhere ya want. Get ya set up real nice. Sixteen's old enough who needs parents!?"

And if all else failed he'd just kill her. Easy. "Besides there's a uh... a little more than the name thing that I need. But we can talk about that later!"

* * *

Lydia considered him carefully from across the room, keeping her distance for now. He was holding information back on purpose. She knew when she was being bullshitted. Still, she _did_ want to help him. It wasn't every day a freaking ghost woke you up in the middle of the night and asked you to say his name.

It was true that she hated her father and that woman, and a life without them seemed attractive on the face of it… but what was he _really_ offering?

"So what… I say your name and you take me somewhere I never have to see them again?"

That sounded an awful lot like murder and-or kidnapping. But... he wasn't _that_ bad, was he? He didn't seem all that bad. Rude, cantankerous, and lacking boundaries, sure, but not evil. He just wanted to return to the land of the dead. That was reasonable. It was probably cooler than this dusty hole full of nothing.

"If I say it, do I have to go with you now? Can I think about it? I want to leave, but… but you're talking about _disappearing_."

* * *

"Nah! No... let's call it services rendered and you can gimme a call when yer ready to go. How's that?" He was getting antsy. If this didn't work he was going to have to step things up and chase the whole damn family out.

Again.

He started to pace. "Listen, I told you this shit is complicated. I don't even know why I'm trapped here, just that I am. And I wanna get out." Another lie. He knew exactly why he was here.

She was starting to look skeptical. "Baby, just tell me what ya need for me to prove myself to ya. I'll do anything, really!"

* * *

Lydia nibbled furiously at her bottom lip as he started to pace, then came to his knees before her, pleading and calling her "baby." Again, he pushed boundaries, but it was flattering to Lydia, who had never had a man other than her father call her sweet things like that.

"You don't have to do anything," she faltered, cheeks glowing through the shadows, shrinking further against the wall. "I just… wanted to understand. Just… 'Betelgeuse' two more times? Or… one more now, I guess."

Maybe he was the bad guy. Maybe she would live to regret this. In either case, the temptation was too great, the thrill too exhilarating. Before she could talk herself out of it, his name was spilling out for a third time.

"Betelgeuse."

* * *

The moment his name left those delectable pink lips, a crack of thunder and strange green lightning hit outside the window. He cackled as his power was returned to him. He would still be trapped on the mortal plane and far from most of his belongings, but who gave a shit. He was free of this house, of the Maitlands' shit in the attic, and from...

The Deetzes weren't an awful family as far as his inhabitants went. He pulled the teenager off the wall where she was cowering and against him, kissing her roughly. She was surprisingly soft and lush, her young flesh giving way to his own in a way he found he had missed.

"Thanks, babes. You got no idea what this means to me."

* * *

If the blinding flash of lightning wasn't enough to set her on red alert, his malicious cackling definitely was. This wasn't the laugh of a man with good intentions. Before she had a chance to speak, he was on her, prying her lips apart with a strong, serpentine tongue and thieving her cruelly of her very first kiss.

After an eternity, he pulled back, muttering something about gratitude and how much he appreciated it, but Lydia could scarcely hear him. Her ears and cheeks burned, rage simmered at the base of her skull, and before she knew was she was doing her palm was whistling through the air to land flat and sharp on his cheek.

She gasped at her own audacity, curling the offending hand back against her chest only to recall that no, actually he DID deserve that slap, thank you very much.

"Jerk!" She cried out, a bit too shrill, a bit too loud. Still brimming with humiliated rage, little wet droplets forming in the corner of her eyes against her will, she pushed him. He barely budged, so she did it again, harder this time to similar results.

"You can't… _do that!_ That was my first kiss, you absolute jackass! Now it's gone and I'll never get it back and it's _your fault!"_

* * *

"Woah! Babes, it's okay...It's just a kiss! Yer gonna have a million of 'em in yer life... I mean _look_ atcha." He grinned lecherously and ran his hands over her sides.

"Matter o' fact if ya don't shut up soon I might have to shut you up. C'mere." He pulled her close and in a flash, they were in the attic. He pushed her down onto a musty couch and started to pace.

"Okay! Game plan. I still need yer help, and you _clearly_ need my help... especially if you're sixteen and that was your first kiss. Let's see..."

* * *

Pushing her down onto the mystery couch as roughly as he did released a cloud of dust into the air, consequently making its occupant go into a sneezing fit that lasted entirely too long for her to adequately hold onto her indignation.

Blinking herself clear again, she puzzled at their surroundings, until looking through a window at her back revealed her parents' cars in the driveway. This must have been the attic no one had been in yet. It didn't look like anyone had been staying up here, but he was a ghost. He could rot up here for a hundred years and the room would be none the wiser.

"It's _not_ just a kiss," she murmured back at him fussily once she had her bearings, removing herself from the couch to explore all the dusty knick-knacks. It wasn't his stuff and this wasn't his house, so she didn't feel any trepidation about crossing the boundary. He wouldn't in her shoes. _Jerk_.

"It was my _first_ kiss and it's important. It's supposed to go to someone I care about who cares about me. Not some gross, rude, _old man_ that doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself. Whatever."

It was done and gone. She should probably thank him. It's not as though anyone else was interested in doing the job.

"I don't know what else I could possibly do to help you, you greedy man," she continued her insults breezily as she stalked the perimeter of a miniature model of the town, unconcerned for his feelings or consequences of such disrespect. "You already took my first kiss. I said your name. I'm not going to get any sleep tonight so school's going to be a bitch tomorrow. What _else_ do you want?"

* * *

"Nothin additional, I swear! Still just tryin' to get back home to my good ol land of the dead. Tricky thing, though... see uh... to do that, well."

He scoffed and held his hands out dramatically. "I gotta get married! Not my rule, of course, but uh... come to think of it. I ain't got any rules!"

He advanced on her, grinning. "Just think about it, babes. You n' me can go anywhere we want... do anything we want! I'm dead, so we don't gotta worry about buyin' plane tickets or shit like that and up here? I can make money like _that_."

He snapped and a large wad of cash appeared in her hands. It was easily a thousand dollars, probably more. "And if ya hate me, hell. Maybe we can divorce, I don't got all the details right now, but come on! I'm so close."

* * *

_Married?_ Lydia recoiled at the prospect but bit her tongue on the hard **No** that wanted to escape, letting him speak his piece. The money didn't spark any feelings of greed or lust within her like it might have on most. At first, she was confused by it, then disgusted, shoveling the crumpled bills off onto the dusty model.

"I'm not for sale," she intoned quietly, the contempt she felt at such a notion clear with her low timbre. Nevertheless, he made an interesting proposal and Lydia was intrigued. She stayed silent for a long while after he made the initial pitch, weighing the pros and cons.

"So… assuming I have everything clear here… you're saying we could get married, and then you could take me to some country on the other side of the world where they don't care how old I am and I can own my own property. I get a house, a car, my own place, and we get a divorce? That's it? That simple?"

He nodded eagerly along with every bullet point she listed, obviously ready to strike up the bargain. Her eyes narrowed.

"If it's that simple, then why haven't you done it already?"

* * *

_If it's that simple, then why haven't you done it already?_

He grimaced, gesturing around them. "I don't meet a lot of women bein' stuck here, okay? And the ones I did meet were either hideous, already married, or both. Like your mom."

He paced, wondering what he could possibly offer her to sway this deal in his favor. "I can take ya anywhere. Getcha a house, stick around to make sure ya got a job, send ya money every month until we get divorced."

He held out his hands. "Come on, baby it's a good fuckin' setup. Whatcha waitin' for?"

* * *

"Stepmother," Lydia corrected harshly, incensed by his continued way of referring to Delia. "My mother isn't married _or_ hideous. She's beautiful and has lots of boyfriends."

His impatience grated further on her nerves, but she refrained from snapping at him again, instead pulling at her hair and worrying her bottom lip.

"It's a big decision, okay? I'm not a gold digger. I don't… _do_ that. I always thought if I ever got married it would be because I was in love, not— whatever this is…"

How long would it even take to get divorced? Her own mother and father battled it out for years before he and Delia could make things official. Would it take even longer for the dead? What if she died and was buried before ever seeing the marriage terminated? Wrought with anxiety, she traced the scars on her wrist beneath the long sleeve of her nightgown— a nervous tick.

"You've had fifty years to think about this, yeah? I've had about five minutes. Just… smoke another cigarette, shut up, and let me _think_."

* * *

_Sassy_. He liked it.

"Oh yeah, yeah. You bet, babes." He sat on the couch, none of the prior dust disturbed by his presence. He took out his cigarette case and held another toward Lydia.

She didn't take it right away, so he waved it in the air like a baton. "Hellooo... Lyds. Have a smoke. No one can smell a thing up here. Better yet."

As he spun the cigarette between his fingers it became a joint, neatly rolled and ready to go. "Clear yer mind with this."

* * *

She raised an eyebrow first at the joint, then at him.

"I've been warned about men like you," she drawled, taking the joint like any proper rebellious teenager and wrapping her lips around it. Damn, that tasted good. Whatever was in here was medical grade and ready to drop her on her ass. Two hits had her flopping down onto the couch opposite him, the middle seat providing an ineffectual barrier between them.

"I just thought you'd be in an alley or an unmarked van. And, y'know, not dead."

Silence ensued as they passed the burning joint back and forth, the girl's eyes dark with thought. Finally, once the cherry hit the end and he disposed of the roach, she sighed heavily, collapsing back against the cushions and running her hands through her hair.

" _What the fuck am I doing…?"_ The question wasn't meant for him, but it was encouraging nonetheless. "… I have conditions."

* * *

"Oh, babes. I guarantee that ya never met a man like me. No one has."

He took a deep drag when it was passed to him. He couldn't feel the effects, but it was comforting nonetheless. The paper was warm from where Lydia's soft lips had wrapped around it.

_I have conditions._

"Of course ya do. Well? I'm ready. I'm all ears." With the words, his ears grew exponentially until they took up most of his head.

* * *

"I want to go to Italy," she began. "Somewhere close to Milan."

That's where Mother was the last time she checked. Would she be excited to see her? Surprised? Happy? Lydia hadn't seen her in so long, she wasn't sure what to expect.

"There will be no kissing, no hand-holding, no sex, no nothing. This is not a romantic relationship. We are not a couple. You fuck around with whoever you want and I'll do the same."

Not like there was a line of guys rushing to get at her, but Betelgeuse clearly needed some firm boundaries in place.

"Lastly, I want twenty-four hours. In case I change my mind. There. Deal or not?"

* * *

He considered her requests for a moment. "How's this. We won't do any of the lovey-dovey bullshit, but what happens... _happens_. I can't make promises. Seeing other people, fine."

He took another deep drag. "Twenty-four hours, agreed. And Milan should be easy, though I don't know why the hell you'd want there. Italy's old hat. Nothin there for a young thing like you."

He smiled. "Agreed?"

* * *

"I have my reasons."

She left her motivations for choosing Italy alone for now. This was a business arrangement, after all. It's not like they were friends or anything silly like that. Also, she was still pretty pissed at him for stealing her first kiss as it was.

"Deal," she agreed, foregoing a handshake for a curt nod instead. "It's midnight now. Jane Butterfield gave me the key to this room today. If I'm not in here by midnight tomorrow, consider your proposal rejected."


	2. Chapter 2

He made a mocking bow before dropping Lydia magically back on her bed. Most of the night was spent pacing. He was so close to getting out, he just needed Lydia to uphold her end of the deal. The next morning he followed her to school to see if he could tell what she was thinking. People weren't kind to her there… maybe that was why she wanted out? But all the way to Milan didn't make sense.

By eleven that night, he was lounged out on the Maitlands' couch, tossing a croquet ball he'd found into the air and catching it as a means to pass the time. He didn't like this. It was getting too late.

* * *

_Dear Father and Stepmother…_

Scowling, Lydia scratched it out. That wasn't right.

_Dear Father…_

Cutting Delia out felt better, but it still wasn't ringing true. Aha! Struck with inspiration, the tip of her tongue tucked out of the corner of her mouth and she began writing anew on a fresh piece of stationery.

_Charles & Delia Deetz,_

_There are no words to express the unending loathing I bear for you both. Everything you do disgusts me. You deserve to rot with one another for eternity, but I cannot tolerate sharing a house with you a moment longer. For months now, I have kept a beau. We are deeply, madly in love. Because he's older, we have kept our relationship secret, but we have the means and money now to run away and be together._

_Do not try to find me._

— _Lydia_

There. It was perfect. After spritzing the page with her perfume, she left it neat and dead center on the surface of her vanity. Now, they wouldn't come looking for her. Or, if they did, the cops wouldn't put any serious effort into it. A runaway teenage bride was an urban myth, not a crime.

_Shit_. It was two to midnight. She'd lost track of time trying to make her goodbye letter perfect. Clumsily, she scrambled to gather her pack of things she couldn't leave behind, as well as an armful of miffed black cat.

"I'm here," she huffed, breathless from running up the stairs. "Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. Percy comes with us or it's no deal."

* * *

Betelgeuse bolted up when he heard her footsteps, grinning as she appeared. "Ah, ya came that's…. what the fuck is _that_."

_Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. Percy comes with us or it's no deal._

"What's a Percy? You're holding a drowned rat." He took her bag, keeping his distance from the cat. He hated cats. Always had.

"I guess that's fine. You ready or what? I figure we set ya up in the apartment and then go get hitched, do some celebrating, and then uh… never see each other again."

* * *

Her heart was pounding, stomach fluttering, and it had been all day. Rather than contemplating whether or not this was a good idea, Lydia found herself spending class wondering what her new home would look like, what she and Mother would spend their days doing, what she would need to take with her. This was _really_ happening. A new life, away from _them,_ where she could be herself and finally have a relationship with her mother without those backstabbing liars downstairs getting in the way.

Grinning wide, she hugged Percy close and gave first the attic, then the entire town from their high vantage one last lookover. A crow on the lawn squawked as if giving his blessing; _go on, get outta here, ya little scamp. Be free._

"I'm ready. Arrivederci, Winter River."

* * *

He chuckled. Her accent was awful, and he told her so. "You'll have to work on if ya don't want people to think you're a tourist."

He pulled her close and in a flash, they were standing in a rather high-end apartment that seemed to be smack dab in the middle of a quaint little village. A map on the table would reveal that they were just outside of Milan. There was a train that went directly into the city and plenty of shops and restaurants to keep a teenager amused for months.

He let her go as they arrived, flickering his fingers to summon a cat box and dishes. He hadn't planned on there being a pet, but luckily Italy seemed to be lax on that kind of thing.

"Here we are! Casa dolce casa!"

* * *

"I'll learn," she assured herself when he criticized her accent. She would have to. This was her home now. After releasing Percy, she followed the cat's lead and went exploring as well; one bedroom, one bathroom, a laundry room, a spacious kitchen and living room. The selling point for Lydia was the balcony, which could be reached through a set of delicately arched French doors in the living room.

It hovered high above the village, allowing Lydia sight of the entire town as well as the city in the distance.

"Wow," she gasped, holding on tight to the ledge and leaning far over the side to check the drop. It was pretty far. Maybe even higher up than the penthouse she shared with Charles and Delia in New York.

"This is really all mine? No paperwork or nothing? That simple?"

At his confirmation, she actually squeaked from sheer joy, a smile almost too big for her face revealing all of her clean, white teeth, so very different from his.

"Thank you!"

* * *

He'd gone out onto the balcony for a smoke while she explored, only paying enough attention to answer her questions. He didn't know why he'd done this the way he had. He could have dropped her in the middle of the countryside and called it a day, and here he was putting her up like an heiress… well. She _was_ an heiress.

He chuckled when she squealed, turning to look at her. "Yeah, it's pretty cushy. You'll have to get groceries and all that shit yerself but I'll leave ya cash."

"That's fine. I don't need help grocery shopping. I'll get a dictionary."

She squinted down at the storefronts below. Most of them were closed. Midnight in Connecticut was six o'clock in the morning in Italy. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting a hazy golden glow over the cobblestone walkways and smatterings of forest. The apartment was mostly bare, with no bed or other furnishings. Just the dishes and catbox her fiance summoned and what she brought with her in her backpack; her camera, a couple of outfits, toiletries, and… _shit_. It wasn't there.

"Fuck," she cursed lowly, digging through her bag a second and third time just to make absolutely sure.

"Uhm… Betelgeuse?"

Hating that she was having to ask him for a favor when everything was so tit-for-tat with them, she proceeded to ask anyway, albeit hesitantly. How could she have forgotten? _Stupid_.

"I left something behind by accident… and I _need_ it. Would you please go back and get it for me? If it's not too much trouble?"

* * *

He winced at the sound of his full name. He turned to her with a scowl. "What? What'd ya forget? I can go get it, but it's gonna cost ya."

He hummed. "I think a smooch is fair, makin' me go halfway around the world to get one thing…"

He smirked and leaned back against the railing. He was starting to realize that there was no furniture. He never thought of that kind of shit. The only things back in his grave were an old TV set and an armchair. But she needed… stuff. He handed her a notebook from midair, sighing.

"Make a list while I'm gone. Everything ya think yer gonna need."

* * *

A smooch? _Jerkface_. Scowling horribly while her face turned a murderous shade of crimson, she conceded. It didn't seem like there was much of a choice to be made.

"Fine."

She could play his games.

"But only after you come back with it. There's a photo tucked into the edge of my vanity mirror. Bring it back to me and you can have _one_ kiss."

At least it was cheaper than a plane ticket. As soon as he handed her the notebook, she started jotting things down; bed, couch, table, etc.

"Just because it's on the list doesn't mean I need you to get it for me," she reminded before he disappeared, leery of further payment options. "It just means I need it."

* * *

He shrugged. "Sure, whatever."

He was gone in a crack of lightning, the whole village temporarily awash in green light. When he appeared back in her bedroom, he started to look for the photo in question before deciding it was best to take the whole vanity. It had clearly been personalized, and that way he couldn't take the wrong thing and have to come back. There was a note on the tabletop, and he picked it up to read it, snorting at the dramatics before putting it on her pillow.

He appeared back in the apartment's bedroom, holding the vanity, and set it down carefully in the corner before starting to read the note aloud from memory.

* * *

Lydia was sitting on the floor in the living room still jotting things down when he returned, all the doors open including the ones to the balcony to air out the place. She didn't pay him any mind until he started reciting her goodbye letter. _Double shit_. He wasn't supposed to see that. She was just a mess today.

"Shut up!" She cried from the doorway, a pen balled up in one fist and the notebook trembling in the other. "I didn't mean it like _that_ and you know it! It was just to keep the police from coming to look for me! I don't want to be all over the news! How did you memorize it so quickly?! Ugh!"

By the time he got to "deeply, madly in love" she was ready to throw herself off the balcony. Eyes clenched shut and hands clasped over her ears, she pulled a stunt almost as childish as the one he was playing and sat back down in the center of the living room floor right where she was before he returned.

"LA LA LA LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU LA LA LA!"

* * *

He couldn't even finish it was too good to watch her freak out. He cackled, hovering off the ground as he held his gut.

"Oh, babes! I love you too! Come give daddy a kiss." He laughed harder, his rad starting to spin on his shoulders. He reached up to stop it, groaning. "Hate it when that happens."

He assumed her voice, putting a hand to his chest dramatically. "I love him, I love him, I love him I _do!_ This man here is the one I want! You asked me and I'm answering. Yes, I _love_ that man of mine!"

* * *

"Hey!" She cried out indignantly as he stole her voice as if he had robbed her of a physical possession. "Stop that! That's _mine!_ You are such a jerk! This is the real reason no one's married you yet, isn't it? 'Married or hideous' my ass. _They_ were the ones rejecting _you_."

Percy, confused by all the commotion and change, came meowing her way and she pouted sympathetically at the fuzzy little beast.

"Yes, I know, baby. He's a bad, bad man and he's not funny _at all_ , is he? No, he's not."

* * *

"Oh, come on! I'm hilarious. And I'm sexy. Admit it." He smirked and dropped back to the ground, flexing his arms like a bodybuilder.

He dropped the facade and scooped the cat up, flipping him on his back to scratch under his chin. The cat complained for all of two seconds before settling in for the pets, purring.

"Lemme see yer list. And you should go look in yer bedroom, I brought ya somethin'."

* * *

She seethed further when he stole her cat but bit her tongue on further taunts to go and check the bedroom. He didn't just bring the photo‒ one of she and her mother from when she was small that she cherished deeply‒ he brought her whole vanity including the stool, which pleased her more than she was willing to say. Replacing all of her trinkets, jewelry, and makeup would have been both annoying and impossible.

The list she gave him was reasonable and short. She'd broken it down by room, only marking down things she saw as necessities. Art and entertainment could come later when she was independent from any stupid adults.

"Thank you," she remarked politely and genuinely, never one to neglect manners. With crossed arms, she returned to where he was still laying out with her cat, walking slowly as if to her doom.

"Deal's a deal. One kiss. Stand up and close your eyes, I'm not going down there with you."

* * *

By the time she returned, the house was slowly furnishing itself. As she walked back to him a couch appeared beneath him. And he sat up to pull her down to sit with him.

"I am all about upholding a deal, babes. Timely repayment is a big thing. Yer doin' real great."

He pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers. His hands stayed relatively polite, running down her arms and back up to her shoulders as he pushed closer, his tongue sliding into her mouth.

* * *

From the get-go, Lydia had intended to turn the game around on him and only give him an innocent kiss on the cheek. After the delivery of her vanity and all the furniture, she was willing to up the stakes to a two to three second peck— a respectable amount of time. Unfortunately, he was too fast and eager to allow her to play on her own terms.

He didn't taste as bad as he looked. If she being honest with herself and wasn't still heckled by his antics, she would admit that he didn't taste bad at all. She let it go on until she couldn't stand it any longer and had to pull away; heart pounding, cheeks flushed, and a nauseous sort of anxiety pooling in her gut.

In an instant she was on the opposite end of the large, comfy couch, avoiding his gaze at all costs.

"No lovey-dovey bullshit," she reminded tremulously, running a hand through her hair while quoting him. Too many kisses like that and she couldn't help what her heart might do.

"I told you you didn't have to get all this stuff."

The couch was soft and lush beneath her, in a deep shade of violet that complimented her pale complexion. She loved it. Still, she was wary of becoming indebted to him. Before she could protest further, a large flatscreen materialized mounted on the wall before them— an item absent from her list.

"Stop," she faltered, panicking just a little. If a photo was worth a kiss, what would a flatscreen cost? "I don't want to owe you…"

* * *

He scoffed as she scampered away, carefully adjusting himself to hide the surge of arousal that had run through him. He ran a hand through his hair as she babbled on about owing him.

"Babes. Did we strike a deal for any of this? No. I said I'd set ya up here, and I am. No extra charge. You're fuckin welcome."

Ungrateful little brat. Where'd she get off freaking out over one little kiss? If he had it his way, there would be many more to follow. She was so _soft_ and _warm…_ and he heard the way her heartbeat sped in her chest.

She was into him.

* * *

Great. Now he was pissed.

"I'm sorry," she groaned, burying her burning face in her palms. She was being rude, wasn't she? That was unacceptable. "Thank you. I love it. All of it, I do."

The sun was fully up by now. Lydia didn't see herself sleeping any time soon. It was her wedding day, wasn't it? Disregarding her frazzled jitters, she proceeded to start some coffee in the little machine that materialized in the kitchen. Without it, she'd end up crashing midday and waking up around midnight. That wasn't any way to start her new life in Italy.

"So how do you want to do this?" She asked, spooning coffee grounds into the filter. "Courthouse wham-bam-thank-ya-ma'am? Or full ceremony with a tux and gown and everything? This is Italy. There are cathedrals everywhere. I'm indifferent. I guess wearing a dress would be nice… but it doesn't matter. Won't be seeing you ever again after, so who cares, right?"

She laughed here, but it rang hollow in the still mostly empty kitchen.

_Won't be seeing you ever again after, so who cares, right?_

* * *

His face hardened at the reminder. This was just his luck. Finally, he got a wife and she couldn't wait to get rid of him. He snapped his fingers and she was suddenly clothed in a deep red wedding gown and veil, gold embroidery trailing the edges to make her look like some kind of Madonna stepped right out of an icon.

He stood and offered her his hand, his face still carefully blank as his appearance changed, rippling a moment before steadying on a tall, pale man in a suit the same shade as her gown.

"There's a church up the street. It's Saturday, so all the traditional ol' ladies'll be giving confession anyway. We're sure to find a priest."

* * *

Coffee was still steeping when the transformation was complete. By the time they returned, the pot would be ready. _She_ , Lydia corrected internally. By the time _she_ returned. After this, they wouldn't have any obligation to one another. This made her sad for reasons she couldn't quite place.

"Better off dead…" she muttered, running a hand along the crimson gossamer of her veil.

"Thank you," she clarified for the umpteenth time, taking his arm as directed. His sudden coolness was not lost on her, but she wasn't sure what to say to abate whatever was bothering him this time.

"I didn't actually want to do the courthouse thing. I was just… I don't know… trying to be agreeable."

* * *

"Nah, it's fine. I get it. Faster we're married, the faster you're free. It's not a problem."

He led her out of the apartment's front door, taking the time to walk to the church would give him a few more precious moments with his bride before she made him hit the bricks. He glanced at her, frowning deeper. It didn't help that she was beautiful. The red was striking against her pale skin.

He remembered brides from his day walking to the cathedrals in flowing gowns and massive headdresses, their grinning grooms in fine brocades and heeled shoes. He'd never worn such finery, of course, but it suited Lydia. It suited her far too well.

"Hey, babes… ya know that you can call me. If ya need anything."

* * *

She didn't bother carrying the train of her gown or veil, letting the barely-there fabric float easily over gravel and cobblestone as they walked.

"Are you sure?" She hesitated at his offer, frowning up at him. "I don't want to bother you."

This… comradery they shared, short as their time together had been, was the closest to "friendship" Lydia had ever come. However, she knew it was only a matter of time until he saw what everyone else saw in her; a freak. Not worth his time or attention. She would never admit it to his face for fear of blowing up that already engorged ego, but he was the coolest person she'd ever met and she wasn't too keen on losing him yet.

"I'm sure you have lots of dead guy stuff you want to do. Your dead friends probably miss you. I don't want to eat up your time with stupid teenage girl problems."

* * *

"Wouldn't offer if I weren't sure. And yer gonna be my wife. I'd be a pretty shitty husband if I didn't show up when my girl needed me."

He nudged her gently, letting a smile crack his face. He wouldn't admit to her that he had no idea where to go from here. Sure, he'd considered his plans if he ever got free, but he hadn't expected it would ever actually happen. Maybe he'd visit Juno first. She had some explaining to do.

Before he knew it they were standing outside the church. Just as he'd expected, there was a gaggle of old women in lace veils chatting outside the door, gasping when they caught sight of the couple.

One toddled forward to take Lydia's hand. "Sei una sposa così bella!" Betelgeuse chuckled and pulled her close to him. "Grazie nonna, non è perfetta?"

* * *

"Bella" and "grazie" were both words that Lydia understood, and so she flushed and smiled appropriately, muttering _grazie_ back to the kindly crones as best she could in her unpracticed tongue.

Their timing couldn't have been more perfect. Morning service was just ending, as Betelgeuse said it would be. The priest, a decrepit old man garbed all in white and gold, was grinning, shaking hands, and exchanging pleasantries with dedicated members of his flock. At the sight of a couple to be wed, he perked up, his face immediately losing ten years.

"Benvenuto! È un bel giorno per un matrimonio!"

Lydia smiled uneasily, but politely, tagging along close to her betrothed's side. He could do all the communicating for now.

* * *

Betel smiled and kissed her temple, pushing his luck just far enough to make them look like a young couple very much in love.

"Siamo contenti che tu sia qui, padre. Stiamo scappando."

The priest laughed, and in broken English replied. "Don't we all? Come, come we wed you now! She is all dressed, why not!"

He smiled and led her into the church, hesitating at the door. It had been a very long time since he was in a church. Once upon a time, he may have even been a believer, though knowing what really lay in the great beyond made him uncomfortable in the face of religion. The priest was gesturing wildly at a full-color statue of the Virgin Mary and an infant Christ, Joeseph standing behind them; together, but not quite.

"You, Mia bella! Look like Notre Madonna!" Betelgeuse couldn't help but feel like Joeseph, her husband only for appearances.

* * *

"Thank you."

Lydia had never felt more beautiful. Would these same people be as kind if she had shown up in her usual all-black affair? They were probably just taken in by Betelgeuse's charms, and he _was_ charming. Terribly so. It was only they, the priest, and a handful of stragglers left now in the gargantuan cathedral. They settled in at the altar, and Lydia spoke now, struck with nerves.

"We don't have to do the whole thing," she hushed, the whisper sounding overly loud in the resonant space. "I mean, whatever's convenient for you, father."

By no means was she religious, but she would not deny this man the respect he was due.

"Si, si. Understood, bella. This is not a problem. Repeat after me…"

He relayed the vow to her slowly. Once she was sure she had it down, she took a deep breath, turned to face the man across the altar, and made her false promise in the eyes of the priest, the Virgin Mary, and the only begotten son of God.

"I, Lydia, take you… _Betelgeuse…_ " she hesitated before giving his full name, unsure if it would still count if she used anything else. "… to be my husband. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honor you all the days of my life."

* * *

Betelgeuse squeezed her hands as she spoke, wondering why this felt like a somber affair. He should be ecstatic. He was getting what he wanted, and he'd never see his wife again.

He'd never see her again.

As she finished his fished a ring out of his pocket, an elegant opal set in white gold. He held it aloft as he said his vows. This felt wrong. He was lying to a God that didn't exist, and yet the deep-seated guilt associated with Catholicism weighed on him.

"I, Betelgeuse, take you, Lydia, to be my lawfully wedded wife. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love and honor you all the days… of my… life." He frowned softly. Death had already parted them. How would this hold up?

The priest grinned and continued the ceremony.

"Bless and sanctify your servants in their love, O Lord, and let these rings, a sign of their faithfulness, remind them of their love for one another. Through Christ our Lord."

Betelgeuse muttered and 'Amen' staring at their joined hands.

* * *

She couldn't tear her eyes away, couldn't breathe while the vows seeped from his glamoured clean mouth. The way he said them, she almost believed it… up until the very end. _All the days of his life_. In that case, it wasn't really a lie after all, was it?

This turnabout logic did not lessen the way her hand shook as she presented it, allowing him to place the painfully beautiful ring on her proper finger. She was wrong. They should have gone to a courthouse. No hypothetical husband in her future was ever going to give her a ring this lovely, a dress this beautiful, a ceremony this heavy and meaningful.

She'd thought this was a good idea; a life experience she might never have if she didn't bite while the opportunity presented itself. Now, she was regretting it deeply. Her chest ached. Watching him disappear and leave her on her own was going to hurt like a bitch.

_Goddamnit_.

"Amen."

"Magnifico!" The priest erupted, more jovial than either the bride or groom. "It is done! I wish you both much happiness in your days to come. Signor, Signora."

He kept smiling and looking at them as though he expected something. _Duh_. They were a "young couple eloping" that requested a rushed ceremony. He thought they were going to kiss. Gulping, taken with a rush of courage and a lapse in sanity, Lydia grasped Betelgeuse by the shoulders to pull him down, elevated up onto her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to her husband's of her own volition for the first time. _Just for the show_ , she told herself.

* * *

This very well could be the last opportunity that Betelgeuse would get to hold Lydia in his arms, and he took it with gusto. He pulled her into him when she pressed her lips to his, holding her tight as he pressed deeper into the kiss, his hands sliding onto her waist.

He would mourn the lack of a wedding night later. At this moment she was all his, and no one could take that from him. The priest was clapping and cheering, but he ignored him, pulling back just enough to let her breathe before kissing her again.

* * *

A fire swept over her as he returned the kiss with enthusiasm, more than she was expecting. It was passionate but classy. He didn't try stuffing his tongue down her throat again, but he did let it come and lash at her lips as if begging for the opportunity.

Lydia was almost tempted to let him. But then, reality sunk back in. This wasn't real. It was just an act. From what she had gathered about her soon to be ex-husband, he was a born showman. It wasn't her fault her heart was pitter-pattering beneath her breast the way it was. It was just hormones. Chemicals.

The moment was over. They gave the priest their gratitude and were quickly off back toward her apartment.

"… so that's it?"

She broke the silence halfway to the loft, unable to bear it any longer.

"I mean… I guess we still have to get divorced."

It felt disrespectful even using the "D" word while she was still wearing her beautiful gown and ring, like she ought to turn around and go give that priest a thorough apology.

"You can have your ring back… if you want."

Lydia wasn't quite ready to part with it, but she would if he wanted her to. It looked expensive. Unfortunately, the ring seemed to be in agreement with her and refused to budge from her finger no matter how much she fiddled with it.

* * *

"Hell no, I don't want my ring back. It's yours. So leave me alone already." He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. "Guess yer on yer own for the wedding night. Pity."

He sighed as they approached the apartment, scowling up at the balcony like it had offended him. He didn't want to go. Maybe he could find an excuse?

"Wanna have a drink? Toast to freedom?"

It was horrifically early. There was a fresh hot pot of coffee waiting for her upstairs. They were both ridiculously overdressed for even the classiest of bars, which would be closed at this hour anyway.

So, naturally, Lydia stopped bothering with her ring, granted him a small, hopeful smile, and gave him her answer.

"Sure. Might never get married again, so I should probably enjoy it while it lasts. You might have to get me a fake I.D. though… and I don't know where we could go. Everything's closed."

* * *

He rolled his eyes and in a blink, they were back in the apartment. He was once again his moldy self and his suit melted back into his too-short slacks and misbuttoned shirt. He was gracious enough to give his bride something more comfortable, a relatively modest nightgown with a silk robe over the top. He plopped down onto the couch and waved his hand, a variety of alcohol appearing on the coffee table.

"Pick yer poison. And yer old enough to drink here. Use that info as ya will."

* * *

"Oh—"

Just as before, she floundered somewhat with the abrupt change in environment and outfit. The nightgown itself was red, just as red as the wedding dress, and long, trailing down to her ankles. Its straps were thin and the neck drooped lower than anything she owned, but the dark silk robe made up for any immodesty.

"Uhm…"

With furrowed brows and a bitten lip, she looked over all the different choices, ignorant to what many of them were or how they tasted or what she would even like. She avoided the darker brown liquors as they reminded her of her detestable father. Pure white vodkas and tequilas reminded her of Delia, which was equally unsavory. A blue bottle piqued her interest and without any preamble, she lifted the whole thing to her mouth to take a swig— the way she had seen her father do sometimes when he thought no one was paying attention.

_Blue Curacao_. It burned going down, sending her into a sputtering coughing fit and making her eyes water. Behind the burn, there was a strange citric flavor, but the bare alcohol on her throat buried any lingering flavor.

"That was _awful_."

* * *

He chuckled as she downed the liqueur, shaking his head.

"Probably because that's supposed to be mixed. Come sit by me and tell me what ya like." He pulled her into his side, humming in thought.

"Wanna do a shot? I can make ya something real tasty."

He licked up a shaker, shaking it as the sound of ice slowly filled it. He then took several bottles of different drinks and mixed them, pouring them into the shaker to blend before pouring the bright green liquid into a glass.

"Give that a whirl. Tastes like candy."

* * *

"Drugs… alcohol… candy…"

Lydia murmured, bring the rim of the shot glass under her nose to give it a whiff. _Green apple_. Her head already felt hazy from the foolish chug.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you were trying to take advantage of me."

Immediately, she realized what a bold thing she had just said and threw the shot back to distract herself from what an idiot she was. Obviously, she was teasing, but they were married. For now. He was awfully close. How many times had they kissed exactly?

"You're good at this."

She was referring to mixing, but the vague declaration could have meant anything. The drink was delicious and she immediately took it upon herself to pour another from the tumbler.

"Why are you still here?" She asked abruptly after throwing back the second one, tongue loosened. "I mean, I don't care. I like you."

_Shit_. That was a dumb thing to say.

"I meant… I mean… I don't have any _friends_. I don't know, I just… thought you'd be eager to be anywhere else."

* * *

He chuckled as she babbled on, rubbing his hand in slow circles on her ribcage. She was too close. Too soft… too warm. If he kept this up he might do something he regretted.

Like actually taking advantage of her.

"Oh, I got places to be, sure. But they waited fifty years, ya know? They can wait a few more minutes of time with my wife." He squeezed her gently, pouring her another of the seemingly favored drink.

"Unless ya want me to go… I'd understand." Before he forgot he flicked a finger and made a rather expensive looking toy appear on her bed. A note would read _For your solo wedding night._

He pressed his lips to her temple in a moment of weakness. He wanted her here with him for good, but that was selfish. She had so much left to do that didn't include him. He'd just tuck her into bed and be on his way.

* * *

"My mom lives in Milan," she blurted out without any provocation as he kept on squeezing at her, feeling a need to fill the air with conversation. She might have questioned his motivations if she didn't know he was just like that. Since they'd met— _wow, was that really only the night before?_ — he almost always had a hand on her in some capacity. He was probably just lonely. _Touch-starved_. Lydia empathized.

"She used to be a _model_. She was in Vogue, Sports Illustrated, spent some time as a Playboy Bunny when she was younger. Did a Covergirl commercial once. Delia was a downgrade."

Lydia wasn't spiteful enough to think Delia completely hideous, but the redhead couldn't hold a candle to her _real_ mother.

"Now she's a photographer for Italian Vogue. She's really good. I probably should have told her I was coming, but then she might've called my Dad or something…"

* * *

He listened to her spew information with a soft frown. Her mother… that's why they were here. She was trying to find the woman who clearly… hadn't wanted her. His heart ached. This was a bad idea. He shouldn't have brought her here.

"When uh… when's the last time you saw her? Bet she don't hold a candle to _you_. You could do all that shit."

He looked down at her, trying to memorize her as she was now. Content and warm with booze. He knew he wouldn't see her like this again… but still, something felt off. He didn't feel fully himself yet.

He needed to see Juno and fast.

* * *

"A couple years ago…" she answered slowly, not wanting to make her Mother look bad. "But— she's just _really_ busy. I told you she's good. They always want to use her for photoshoots. Hold on, I have a couple of her magazines—"

Clumsily, Lydia shot up from the couch a little too quickly, stumbling over his legs and muttering a quick apology before rushing off to the bedroom. A moment later she was back, curling right back under his arm with a stack of magazines in her lap.

"This is one of hers. Just look at that _angle_."

The proud daughter proceeded to gush over her mother's work, flipping through the pages and explaining why it was great in a way that someone unlearned in photography could understand.

"We write all the time."

That was a bald-faced lie. Two cards a year on her birthday and Christmas could hardly be considered "all the time" but she couldn't let her temporary husband walk away thinking ill of her mother.

* * *

Something about this didn't sit well with him. She too eager to prove her mother adequate for his tastes. Even so, he obediently flicked through the magazines, dogeared to her mother's work over and over again. He watched as she talked about her, wondering what kind of person could give Lydia up.

Oh, that's right… he was that person. He was supposed to go and find a way to divorce this precious, excitable little woman. He pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her face once more.

"It's great, babes… I'm sure you'll see a lot more of her now that you're here…"

* * *

"I'm _nervous_ ," she admitted, opening up to him further at every show of affection. It felt good. Comforting. Not like she was going to burn in a pit of Hellfire, the way his kisses made her feel. Under any other circumstances, a wedding night confession such as this would have been charming and appropriate. For them? It was bittersweet.

"I didn't… really think this through a whole lot…"

What was she going to do? Just walk into Italian Vogue HQ and request an appointment with their hottest, most in-demand photographer? She could always just visit her at home, but that might be a rude surprise. Calling with a warning was out of the question. Mother would immediately call her father, he would fly out to retrieve her, and the jig would be up.

"But hey. When in Rome. When was another dead guy gonna pop the question and offer me a new life anywhere I wanted? Never, that's when."

Following an intoxicated impulse, she pressed a _thank you_ kiss to his cheek rather than saying it aloud. By now, she'd said it so many times the phrase was beginning to lose its meaning.

* * *

He was pulled out of his thoughts by her kiss, turning to look at her with surprise and brushing their lips together in the process.

"We… should get you to bed. You'll feel like shit tomorrow… probably…"

He sighed and stood, pulling her with him as he made his way toward the bedroom where her new bed was waiting. Percy looked up from his spot on the end of the bed and purred at the sight of his mistress. Betel scratched his ears gently as he urged Lydia toward the bed.

"Remember. You can call me if ya need to."

* * *

"But— m'not tired—"

Whether or not she was in need of sleep was irrelevant. She was clearly tossed off her ass on those few drinks, stumbling and pulling weakly to avoid ending their time together so soon. She didn't want to be alone.

This was uttered aloud beyond the drunken girl's knowledge as he ushered her into the bed, his wife smaller, easily manipulated, and too weak to fight.

_Remember. You can call me of ya need to._

Going from vertical to horizontal so quickly gave her a head rush, the alcohol swirling and muddling her vision.

"Okay… Bee'joos… arrivederci…"

Alcohol did nothing to improve her accent.


	3. Chapter 3

Her drunken goodbye made it nearly impossible for him to leave. She was so cute, and more than cute… she was beautiful. There was a blush high on her cheeks from the alcohol, her big brown eyes flagging.

"Arrivederci, mi Tesoro."

He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before disappearing and popping back up in the middle of the waiting room, the newly dead around him scattering. He sauntered up to the counter, picking at his teeth.

"Carmen. Miss me?"

* * *

Carmen was having another boring day in the long line of dreadfully boring days that comprised her afterlife. She wasn't granted the mercy of a home to go rewind in at the end of a workday but was cursed with a smoke break every other hour that forced her to remember the achingly slow passage of time. Therefore, it was a delight when her most interesting ex-coworker made an appearance. But, she would never let him know that she thought so.

Keeping a bland expression, she scarcely glanced up from filing her nails before returning to the fruitless task.

"Oh. It's you. Somebody let you out? I guess miracles _do_ happen. To what do I owe the pleasure, beetlejerk?"

* * *

Betelgeuse might have been fooled into thinking he loved Carmen at one point. She was the only woman who he'd bothered to stay with for longer than a few nights, although they'd fallen out of their joint madness when he broke out. He grinned when she barely glanced up at him. He leaned into the tiny window in her booth and winked at her playfully.

"I need to see Juno and a blowjob, preferably in that order. And ya know I'll return the favor so don't pretend like ya don't want it."

He reached through to brush a strand of fiery red hair out of her face, setting a pack of cigarettes in front of her.

"I'll let myself back."

* * *

Just as Carmen's lips curled into a sultry smile and she was about to engage him in some more flirtatious banter, her dead eyes glossed over the band on his left hand's ring finger. Fire doused, she sneered.

"What is _that?"_

Completely turned off at the very concept, she scoffed, returning to nail filing. So this wasn't an exciting day after all. What a shame.

"Sorry, BJ. No BJ's today. I have a strict 'no husbands' policy."

Not after finding her own cozied up snug with Miss Brazil.

* * *

Betel's grin fell. When did that get there? Lydia hadn't put it on him. Damn rules. He sighed and nodded stiffly.

"Right. Well. I'm goin' to ask about a divorce, so… maybe later."

He let himself into the back hallway, finding Juno's office easily and knocking before walking in, still looking behind him as though expecting Lydia to appear somehow. He turned to the old woman he used to assist and scowled.

"Ma, I'm gonna need ya to do me a favor."

* * *

Juno was up to her ears in paperwork, filtering clueless newlydeads in and out of her office all day long. Therefore, by the time Betelgeuse showed his ugly mug she was ready to make his throat look like hers.

"What do you want, Betel?" No time for niceties. Was there ever? "For that matter, what _the fuck_ are you doing here? You're still on house arrest."

She wasn't terribly surprised. He had an annoying knack of swindling his way out of hairy situations. Before he could explain, a brand new folder popped up on her desk. A post-it on the front detailed what lied within; _regarding the marriage of the poltergeist Betelgeuse to the mortal Lydia Deetz._

"… son of a bitch."

* * *

"Real nice to see you too, Junebug. Listen… ya don't gotta worry about that cause I'm here to ask for a divorce." He plopped down onto a chair and crossed arms.

"Also, I thought marriage was supposed to give me my powers back. I still feel like shit." He gave her a stern look. "Unless you forgot to tell me part of the deal. I know you wouldn't do that, though… you know how seriously I take my deals."

* * *

"Divorce," she grumbled, looking over the paperwork within the damned folder, "so soon? Trouble in paradise?"

Reading the details was giving her a pounding headache. "Sixteen? _Jesus fucking Christ, Betel."_

Slapping the folder shut, she fixed him with a tired deadpan.

"You always do this, you know. You throw yourself into these situations half-cocked and get burned. It's _your_ fault you were trapped in that attic and if you knew what was good for you, you would have stayed there for another fifty years and done your time."

The conversation he was referencing happened centuries ago, but Juno recalled it with singular clarity.

"Of course I didn't give you all the details. Why would I? What reason have you _ever_ given me to think you would actually go off and get hitched?"

Exhausted, she lit up a smoke and took a rare moment to relax back into her seat, ignoring her work for now.

"I would love to give you a divorce, Betel, really I would. It's what you deserve… but it's not what you want."

* * *

He grimaced. "How the hell do you know what I want?"

She was right, of course. If he had it his way he'd be back in the cozy Italian countryside right now, cuddled up to his bride and basking in their wedding night, but… that wasn't meant to be.

"I want out. She wants out. What's the issue? And what about my power? My energy? I feel like I'm twice my age and that's saying something." He tapped his foot, thinking through her words.

"There's a catch. Gotta be. As to why I feel like an ancient and you won't let me get divorced."

* * *

"Who said I won't let you get divorced?"

Wheezing out a humorless laugh, she nudged the folder his way.

"Paperwork's right there. Knock yourself out. I'm just saying, it's not in your best interest."

At least he hadn't pursued his child bride physically.

"In fact, without a consummation, we could go ahead and get this annulled. No need to even get the missus' signature. But… you'll poof right back to that attic. Your temporals will immediately go back into place and you'll lose your green card, not to mention a significant portion of your juice. There would be a fifty-fifty division of 'assets', and…"

His bride would get half of his powers, and he would get half of her very life-force, a process she was unlikely to survive.

"Let's just say it would be unpleasant for everyone involved. So if you really don't think you can work it out with this girl, go ahead. Sign the paper. Looks shitty in the short term, but you'd be better off in the long run."

* * *

He snatched up the paperwork, pulling his glasses from his breast pocket and reading it carefully. None of this sounded good. Shit.

"This would kill her. Lydia wouldn't be able to take that…" His heart sank. "Shit. I can't. I can't do it…" He put the paperwork down and rubbed his forehead.

"Fine. So what about my powers? Requires consummation? She's sixteen and a virgin. How am I supposed to… what do I do?"

* * *

A sympathetic sigh fell from her wrinkled mouth.

"Marriage is no picnic, Betel. The bed is made. You lie in it. That's what you do."

He should've known by now that there was no cheating the system. Not really. It always came back to bite.

"I suggest flowers. Chocolate. Promises you don't intend to keep. Come on, I don't need to tell you how to romance a girl. You could always just be happy with what you have and leave the poor girl alone."

* * *

_Be happy with what you have and leave the poor girl alone._

The words haunted him through the next several weeks as he tried to pull himself out of his funk. He went to Dante's, he went to his usual bar, even sulked around the Winter River cemetery, but everything seemed to remind him of Lydia.

He gave in, eventually and went back to Italy, appearing in her living room in the midst of the shadows and hoping she wouldn't be too bothered by his presence.

* * *

Lydia's first month in Italy was largely uneventful. When she awoke from her wedding night blackout, she found a large pile of cash sitting on the coffee table… as well as a shiny, brand new silicone vibrator, both gifts obviously courtesy of her dearly departed husband.

She hadn't brought herself to actually approach her mother yet. One day was spent at a café outside where she knew her loft was; drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, waiting. Lydia was there for five hours and never saw her come or go before giving up and heading home.

Her Italian was still shit, but she was better now than before. Not good enough to snag herself a job, though. Neither the library, the coffee shop, the antique store, or even the corner gas station had given her a callback. Today was another day that had been spent applying fruitlessly all over town, only to get rejected at every turn.

After arriving home, she wasted no time in stripping down to just her underwear on the way to the bedroom and flopping down on the bed bonelessly. Just then, the vibrator caught her eye. Like her mother, she'd yet to have the courage to approach it, leaving it sitting imposingly on the bedside table as a reminder of her husband.

She'd been holding onto a stupid romantic notion that if her first kiss couldn't go to someone she loved, maybe she could give them her first orgasm… but… after the day she'd had, that seemed so _silly_. Who was ever going to love her?

* * *

She came storming in minutes after he arrived, and he pressed himself further into the shadows. He had no way of knowing if she'd be happy to see him. After all, her fondest words to him had come when she was drunk.

He followed her into the bedroom, picking up her abandoned clothes as he went only to drop them at the door when he saw her pick up the vibrator he'd sent. Well, now. His day just got infinitely better.

He settled himself silently in her desk chair, ready to watch the show. He hadn't been able to get off since before the wedding. Nothing any of the succubus at Dante's tried had worked. His balls stayed determinedly blue.

* * *

Curiously, Lydia fiddled with the buttons and settings, never having handled a device like this in her life. It was phallic, with a bulbous head and thick ridges that she couldn't imagine were very comfortable. But maybe they were? There was no way of knowing. She wasn't about to lose her virginity to a dildo. But... that didn't mean she couldn't still get some use out of it.

Once she found a rhythm that seemed nice, one that made the internal mechanism slowly ascend and descend the intensity of vibration in an endless loop, she laid back on the pillows, took a deep breath, and slid the toy past the waistband of her panties to nestle against her mound.

The low cycle made her tingle pleasantly, but once it crescendoed her breath hitched, brows furrowing and lips parting. Her thighs eased apart, revealing the soft flesh there and the bulge of the toy under her straining panties to the peeping tom at her desk.

* * *

Somewhere, some greater power hated him. Why else would he be forced to watch as his beautiful bride touched herself for seemingly the first time?

And watch he did, hungrily, as she spread her legs and unknowingly gave him a better view. He bit his lip, trying to decide if it was worth it to try and touch himself in return. Maybe just…

He squeezed himself through his pants, his cock already straining the fabric as she moaned and whined into the still air around them. The low buzzing of the toy and her own sounds of pleasure the only sounds in the house.

* * *

Apparently, her body already knew what to do to make this feel better. Unbidden, her hips rose as the vibration increased, chasing the indescribable sensation, then lowered as it faded; back and forth, over and over, two steps closer and one step back with every cycle.

Against her will, she found her thoughts flying to her husband. He was the only one who had ever called her beautiful… kissed her… _touched her…_

"Bee…" she mumbled almost inaudibly, remembering their first kiss. It was rougher than all the others, those rotten teeth of his digging into her lips in a way that hurt so good. At the time she hadn't been able to appreciate it, but now…

* * *

His eyes snapped to her face when she muttered what might have been his name. He bit his lip, rubbing himself harder through his pants. He wanted desperately to just… jump her. He could take the place of that toy in a heartbeat, bring her to her first climax in minutes. But he wouldn't do that…

He also wouldn't let her first orgasm come from a hunk of plastic. He made himself visible and flipped on the light.

"Hey, babes."

* * *

Something was coming. The surface of her flesh felt electric, heart racing, breaths quickening. Almost there… just a _little_ more…

Then, the light snapped on. _Hey, babes._

"BETELGEUSE!" She screeched, and not in the way he would have liked. Clumsily, she rushed to pull the comfort up over herself, hurrying to turn off the vibrator before he could hear it. Just in case he hadn't been there long enough to know what she was doing.

"Don't you know how to knock?!"

Oh God, she could just _die_. Unable to look him in the eye, she pulled the covers all the way up over her head, childishly hiding from the rest of the world.

"… _what do you want?"_

* * *

"What, a guy can't check in on his wife? I got us an update." He moved to the bed, laying beside her on his side. "Aw, come on… why are you all shy?"

She didn't need to know that he was watching. She could find out later, when he left her yet another toy. He pulled the comforter away from her face and smirked.

"I don't get a kiss, I don't get a 'Welcome home, honey!' Nothin. Cryin shame, I get myself a wife and she wonders why I visit."

* * *

For a moment, she dared to peek wide eyes over the edge of the blanket when his voice came closer and the bed dipped from his enormous weight. His words said he didn't know, but his eyes told another story. Mortified, she returned to her cocoon.

"I'm half-naked," she confessed, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt. Pretending nothing happened was more agreeable than any of the other options.

"Sorry. I just— you surprised me. What's going on?"

* * *

"Only half? Well damn, guess I shoulda come back later." He pressed closer, despite himself, her warmth permeating the blankets enough to draw him into her. He sighed as he settled himself in on a pillow.

"Well. Divorce is… trickier than I thought. It's gonna take me a while to figure it out. I don't wanna hurt you. There's magical bullshit involved." He pulled the comforter up from his end and slipped closer to, his hand finding her waist.

"How have things been here? Ya still good on cash? Thought ya mighta wanted a visit by now. Though clearly, you've got … things under control."

* * *

Her little black tank rode up in the midst of all her gyrating, leaving her flesh bare when his hand came searching for her waist. She was sticky and overly hot, still wired from her near-orgasm. The contrast of his cold, rough palm of the slightly sticky, overheated flesh made her shiver. Not unpleasantly.

"I'm okay," she whimpered, unable to help the way her voice wavered, but quickly corrected it as she pressed on. "Not having a lot of luck finding a job. Nobody wants to hire an American teenager with no experience that can't speak the language. But I should be okay on money for a while. I'm only spending it on essentials. Nothing extraneous."

* * *

"Well, that's no fun…" He grinned at the way she shivered in his hold, pressing closer to her when he knew she wouldn't run. "Extraneous can be a lot of fun…"

He licked his lips, looking over her hungrily. He couldn't see anything with how she bundled herself up. Unfair.

"Now, I believe your loving husband asked for a kiss, Lyds. Ya aren't gonna leave me hanging are ya?"

Before she could answer, he sealed his lips to hers, pulling her flush against him. If she was still turned on enough to ignore how he looked, then he could kill two birds with one stone. He'd get his rocks off and his powers back, not to mention leave his wife happy and sated when he inevitably had to leave again.

* * *

The kiss made her weak. She crumbled, going soft and limp to his passions. _Wait_. There was something hard in between them. Was that…? _It was._

Mortified all over again, Lydia tore her lips away, gasping, moving the vibrator behind her back in a way she hoped was subtle. God, she was such a fuck up.

"Hey! You're not— you _know_ you're not supposed to do that!"

She sounded more scared than upset. He was too good at this. He could have her, leave her, and then she'd be all used up and alone. She'd rather just be alone.

"There, you got your kiss. Happy? Now, what's going on? Why can't we get divorced?"

* * *

He huffed as she pulled away, his face darkening. He wanted her, goddamn. He wasn't used to having to wait for things he wanted.

"Because the division of assets would kill you. And I figure you'd rather be alive to cheat on me than die because you wanted a clear conscience. Am I wrong?"

He rolled onto his back and lit a cigarette, passing it to her before lighting one for himself. Percy came tearing into the room and jumped up onto him, purring. Betel scratched his ears absently.

"Hello there, monster. You been keepin' momma safe or am I gonna have to fire you?"

* * *

Oh. _Oh_. The way he said "division of assets" with that dark coloration told her he wasn't referring to the couch or television.

"I mean… isn't there something I can sign? Void it out so you keep what's yours and I keep what's mine?"

Dealing with her own mother and father's divorce had been painful enough. This sounded leagues more complicated.

"Don't worry," she flopped back as he handed her the cigarette and started in loving on Percy. "I've been perfectly faithful… have you been on any dates?"

She immediately regretted asking. It was none of her business and she didn't really want to know anyway.

* * *

_I've been perfectly faithful._

He chuckled softly. He knew she had. After all, any girl this embarrassed to play with herself wasn't going to lie to him about sleeping around.

"I don't do dates, usually. And besides, I'm here with you, ain't I?"

He smiled softly and leaned into her, kissing her cheek. He was doing anything he could to feel her warmth. He sighed. He shouldn't stay… it would be too easy to get attached. He put the cat aside and sat up, running a hand through his hair.

"I should go. Leave ya to yer life."

* * *

Lydia sat up as he did, unable to help the pang in her chest that he wanted to leave so soon after arriving.

"I'm not doing anything," she rushed out, a little too quickly. Too eagerly. "I mean… I don't have anything to get back to. You can stay for dinner… if you want. I mean, I understand if you want to go, you probably have things to do. I just— I got everything I need to make lasagna."

The more she spoke, the stupider she sounded to herself. Pathetic. Desperate. Needy. Lonely.

"…. But you probably don't eat food like that, right?"

_He's dead, stupid._

"Nevermind. Don't worry about it. I'll just… thanks for dropping by."

* * *

He stopped her tirade with a hand on her knee.

"Babes. I love lasagna. If yer makin' enough for two, I'd love to stay."

Something in him preened at her obvious desire to have him stay. He would do what done before… keep her company until she fell asleep and then leave. He stood up and nodded.

"Yeah, some honest to god food sounds great. Haven't had any in decades… Ya want help with anything? I can get ya wine or something…"

* * *

"I already have some," she confessed with a tiny, guilty smirk. With no job, no friends, no school, and nothing to do with herself, an embarrassing amount of time here had been spent drinking alone. Luckily, Betelgeuse managed to pop in on a day where she'd done some cleaning, so her sad existence here wasn't immediately apparent.

"Go pour us a couple glasses so I can get dressed."

As soon as she was granted privacy, she threw on the nightgown and robe combo he'd conjured for her the day of their wedding. It was her favorite thing to sleep in these days, the silky fabric flowing like water over her.

"So what's the land of the dead like?" She asked once she was dressed, a couple sips of wine in her, chopping up onion and garlic. "Cooler than here, right? I bet it is."

* * *

He poured them each a glass of the fruity red wine she had on the counter, nearly dropping them when she appeared in the night things he'd given her their wedding night. How did she expect him to keep his hands to himself when she looked like that? He was snapped from his thoughts when she started to ask about the Neitherworld.

"Oh, it's fine I guess. I'd take Italy over the Neitherworld any day, though." He stood beside her, sipping at his wine. "Anything I can do here? Cut tomatoes? Cheese?"

* * *

"Uhmm… here," she handed him a cut of parmesan, a ball of fresh mozzarella, and a grader. "Grade these into two separate bowls."

This would go by much faster with his help, which Lydia wasn't certain she wanted. She was even lonelier here than she was in Winter River, though she'd never admit it to her husband. It was a little late for buyer's remorse.

"If you like it better here, then why don't you? Poof yourself up some money and live it up. We could be neighbors."

She giggled here as if she was telling a very funny joke.

* * *

"People would freak. They can't all see me." He set to work grating the cheese, momentarily struck by how domestic the moment was. He downed another swig of wine to hide it.

"Besides, if I'm gonna live here I wanna live with my beautiful bride. And I'm sure you're gonna be sick of me any minute now."

When the cheese was done he took the tomatoes and basil and started on that. He bumped his hip into hers every time she wandered past, her wine glass refilling itself every time it got past half empty.

* * *

"I wouldn't get sick of you. You're neat. And I'm not beautiful," she still smiled and blushed prettily, unused to hearing such things. "I'm a pasty, flat-chested midget."

She had to roll up her sleeves to hand mix the eggs and flour for pasta, and glanced to make sure he was busy on the other side of the counter first. If he saw the scars on her wrists, he might comment on it and ruin all the fun they were having.

"I've never made fresh pasta before."

She had her laptop open on the counter with step-by-step instructions, the way she taught herself every recipe she knew.

"So if it comes out sucky, that's why."

* * *

"I'm sure it'll be great. And you're none of that shit, so knock it off. Stop talkin' about my wife like that."

He slid in behind her when his tasks were complete, wrapping his arms around her waist and letting himself pretend that they could stay that way. He scowled when he saw the faded scars on her wrists but didn't comment. Instead, he rubbed his thumb over one that was higher than the rest. Probably a first attempt.

"Yer petite. And delicate… pale, like a porcelain doll. People have been tryin' to get yer complexion for centuries." He pressed his thumb harder to the scar. "You tryin' to get in, babes? I can promise it ain't all it seems. I'll show ya mine if ya want."

* * *

When he appeared behind her, seemingly finished with his chopping ahead of time, she tensed just a moment before relaxing, allowing it. The words he used to describe her were… poetic. No one had ever talked about her like that before. They struck her dumb for the time being, set her heart fluttering like a trapped hummingbird in her chest.

Then, he found her scars and the pounding stopped. She stopped everything, hands stilling in the half-kneaded dough and breath freezing in her lungs.

"Not anymore," she confessed, slowly returning to her kneading. "I just…"

No explanation seemed adequate. One was from the year Mother forgot her birthday. Another came after a particularly cruel bout of teasing from Claire and her cronies. Others were just to force her to feel something. Anything. She cut too deep once and ended up in the hospital, followed by a two-week stint in a psych ward during which she was subjected to involuntary ECT. That was the one he was caressing now.

"I'm just a stupid angsty teenager. Nothing special."

Embarrassment over her half-assed suicide attempts and self-harm lingered until he made a sly confession of his own. Gasping, she turned her neck to look up at him, eyes heavy with concern.

"You killed yourself?"

* * *

"Sure did. S'how I know it ain't worth it. And why I get it. It's a lot… ya just wanna feel once in a while." He still felt that way. He was feeling more now that he was with Lydia than he had in his memory, but every time he left the emptiness crept back in.

He reached up to undo his tie, shrugging his jacket off while he was at it. He set them both aside and undid the first several buttons of his shirt, tilting his head back to show the deep purple and red bruising that still wrapped around his throat. There were stark white pressure marks down the middle of the bruising, as though the rope were still pressing into his skin.

"I regret it now. Woulda liked to go out the old fashioned way. Probably woulda ended up killed by a lover or somethin'…"

* * *

Fascinated, stuck on his every word, she watched unblinking as he revealed his death marks. Ordinarily, she would have asked if it was okay before moving forward with touching them, but he had no such boundary issues with her. Very gently, almost not making contact at all, the floury pads of her fingertips ghosted over them, committing the sight to memory.

"Why on Earth would anyone want to kill you..?" She questioned airily, meaning for it to come out with sarcasm, but the intonation didn't quite fit.

"I'm probably going to die alone when I'm… fifty. Some undiagnosed disease because I hate doctors. Surrounded by cats in a rundown house in the forest that children don't go near because it's rumored a witch lives there. That's the only way for me."

* * *

He chuckled as she described her dream death, letting her explore the marks with her fingers for a while before pulling back. He didn't like thinking about it too hard. His death was a long time ago. The past was past. He sighed softly as he pulled away.

"Sounds like a good way to go to me. But ya won't be alone, babes. I'll be there with ya. Probably be stuck with me after ya die too." He ran his hands through his hair and chuckled softly. "Better uh… better get us some more wine. What kind ya want? Same as before?"

* * *

"Same is good," she conceded, sensing when a change of subject was due.

"You should put on a movie while I shape the noodles. I've got Netflix."

Wi-fi was a necessity in Lydia's book, and she didn't waste any time in setting up an account with the money he left her.

"I don't want you to feel stuck with me, or… or _responsible_ for me. You're not. Think of it as… a marriage of inconvenience. Until we get divorced, I guess. If we get divorced. Either way, I'm not your problem. I promise."

Realizing this might have come off like she didn't want him around, she softened it with a warm smile and look.

"But I'll be your friend."

* * *

Great. Swell. Exactly what he wanted, a wife who saw him as a friend and a cock that only responds to one woman. Wonderful.

"I donno what the hell a Netflix is, but I can get wine."

He poured her a new glass and leaned against the counter, wondering why the hell he was so hung up on this little girl. After a moment he went to fuss with the TV, putting his glasses on to try and read the titles.

"Jesus, could they make this font a little smaller? Who do they think is usin' this, owls?"

* * *

Lydia was content to watch him fiddle over the remotes like the old man he was, stifling laughter as best she could at his antics, but a few escaped chuckles couldn't be helped.

"Oh my God, you're so _old_. Should I go the antique shop and get a VCR? Order some VHS tapes? Would that make things easier for you whenever you come over?"

The idea of him regularly keeping her company was comforting. The past month had been hard. Playing at being an adult had taken a toll on her. The lasagna had been a ploy to cheer herself up, learn how to cook like the locals and stop surviving on frozen dinners.

"Here…" She took a break from shaping the lasagna sheets to wash her hands and give him some help. "This little icon over here is Netflix… and there you go. Browse away."

The suggested titles were rife with horror and suspense, giving away Lydia's tastes.

* * *

He grunted, putting on the first suggestion and smirking as he pulled his wife down into his lap. "Is the food in the oven? It smells great already."

In truth, he had no way of knowing that. His sense of smell had gone out first. A blessing when you spent most of your time in a grave or with dead people. He held her close, letting himself imagine another time, and not so different place. If he'd met someone like her when he was alive, his life and the existence thereafter might have been very different.

But, with her warm and content in his lap, he didn't know that he'd change a thing.

* * *

She couldn't speak from experience, but friends probably didn't kiss as much as they did. Or touch as much. Or hold each other. Or gift sex toys. Or get married. Nevertheless, he told her from the very beginning that he wanted freedom and she wasn't going to be the one to get in the way of that.

"Not yet. Have you seen this one? It's really good."

Sinister was one of her favorites as far as modern horror went. She watched from the kitchen while layering the lasagna and sipping from her bottomless wine. The way it kept refilling itself was not beyond her notice. If she wasn't careful she would get sloppy on him again.

Finally finished, she joined him on the couch, pleased to see a lit blunt hanging from his lips.

"Mm. Pass that."

The weed was just as good as before.

"Sorry I got so drunk last time. I didn't do anything embarrassing… did I? I don't really remember."

* * *

"Oh, nah. Ya seemed like ya wanted me to stay… and I would have, but I was tryin' to figure out the divorce thing. Besides, you woulda woken up and thought something happened that didn't." He sighed softly. "And then there would've tears, and wailing, and I'd have to convince ya I didn't take advantage. It woulda been a mess."

He slung his arm over her shoulders and took the blunt back for a hit before passing it back. His fingers traced slow circles over her arm, the quiet companionship the perfect end to his day.

"This is nice. I should hang out more often."

* * *

"Well, I don't have a job or any friends or anything to do with my time other than wander around town like a lost puppy."

The wine had left her brutally honest.

"You can come over whenever. Just… you know. Knock next time."

He must have missed what she was doing earlier, or else he definitely would have said something. Definitely… right?

"I have to do something about this job thing... Hey. You can make stuff appear out of nowhere. What else can you do? Think you could hypnotize the head librarian at the University into giving me a callback?"

She was only half-joking.

* * *

"I can change some names around. Make sure you get the job." He shrugged and smirked at the request to knock.

"Why would I knock when ya put on such a nice show when I don't? Gotta say, I'm glad ya like your wedding present, babes." He squeezed her closer, laughing as she started to turn strange colors. "Aw, come on… nothin wrong with playin' a solo ya know? But ya should really wait for yer first orgasm. It's worlds better with someone else."

* * *

"Oh God."

She cringed into a ball, hiding her face in her hands as he curled closer, seemingly basking in her crippling embarrassment.

"Just kill me now."

Of course he saw. Pretending he hadn't was just wishful thinking on her part. Flustered, she turned her embarrassment into faux-rage, slapping at him lightly as he kept crowding her in.

"Why would you give me a _dildo_ if you don't think I should use it, you absolute _tool!"_

She shouldn't be embarrassed. He was the peeping tom here. Still, her cheeks continued to bleed red as she beat him with a couch cushion.

* * *

"Listen, I'm conflicted! I want ya satisfied, but it seems wrong that I don't get to make my wife cum first, ya know?" He pressed a kiss to her temple, then her cheek.

"Come on, baby don't be mad… you like that toy, don't ya? I saw those little thighs shake."

He slid his hand over one now, humming low in his throat. Percy picked that moment to jump into their conjoined lap, purring and rubbing against his chin. Bete sighed and ran his hand over the cat begrudgingly.

"Buzzkill."

* * *

He was making this whole "friendship" thing very difficult, preying upon her vulnerability shamelessly, revealing his sexual desires for her as though it was nothing.

"I'm not— I'm not some one night stand, okay? It's not that I don't like you, I _do_. I just… obviously, you already know I'm a virgin."

That he could tell without her saying anything was horrifying enough on its own. Percy came to her rescue then, distracting him from playing with her further.

"I can't just _fuck around_ like that. Cause then what if I start wanting you around all the time? You don't want that. You're not a 'dating' kind of guy, remember? I can't… I don't think I could handle that kind of heartbreak. I don't think you want to do that, either. Maybe when I'm older and some other asshole has already broken my heart, then we can do the fuck buddy thing. Deal?"

* * *

He scoffed. "Don't tell me what I want, baby girl. You got no idea." The statement came across as more vicious than he intended, but where did she get off saying he couldn't have her until someone else had first?

"No deal. I ain't here to break yer heart or be yer fuck buddy. I'm yer husband for the foreseeable future. Makin sure you feel good is my job." He sighed and leaned back into the couch.

"I don't like the thought of you with other guys. And I can't be with other women. I tried. Couldn't even get it up." He shook his head. "When you feel ready… I wanna be your first. What you do after that is all on you. Deal?"

* * *

_I ain't here to break yer heart or be yer fuck buddy. I'm yer husband for the foreseeable future._

"It's not like you would be trying. It would just happen. It's what men do. You can't help it."

It's what her father did to her mother, and would eventually do to Delia. It's what Miss Shannon's husband did to her, leaving her cold and bitter. It's what Claire Brewster's father did to her mother and why Claire was such an intolerable cunt. When it came to relationships, Lydia was untried and inexperienced but had seen enough to know that pain was inevitable. She'd had enough pain. That brand of it seemed messy and unnecessary, especially when sex toys existed.

_I tried. Couldn't even get it up._

Wow. That he even was willing to admit such a thing made up for his peeping to Lydia. They were now one for one on the embarrassment scale, but she was good enough to not use this against him, not when he was citing unquenchable lust for _her_ as the reason for his erectile dysfunction.

_When you feel ready… I wanna be your first. What you do after that is all on you. Deal?_

That seemed fair. It wasn't, not really, but it seemed so to Lydia and that was good enough. To be truly fair, she would have to hire a dozen male prostitutes and let them fail to bring her to orgasm, but that probably wouldn't end well for anyone involved. Her eyes narrowed, searching him for any bullshit, not that she was expecting to find any. He was an open book for her.

"Deal. It's not like you have any competition."

* * *

"Bullshit. Living men are just stupid. They spend too much time thinkin' about things and by the time they're ready to ask you out, yer married or had a kid and they get pissy about it."

He frowned when the timer for dinner went off. Their time together was coming to a rapid close. He couldn't stay. Staying meant risking getting even more attached.

"Hey babes, next time ya go out can ya pick up some beer? Beer in yer fridge for when I come over would be great. Course… I dunno when that might be next. But. You could always call me up if you get lonely."

* * *

"Oh what, and dead men are better?" Lydia snorted dismissively, hopping up to go remove the casserole dish from the oven. "As the owner of a penis, you're biased. Men cheat, and lie, and make babies they have no intention of taking care of. As soon as you start wrinkling, they'll trade you in for the younger model like _that_."

She was probably being unfair, but then again, life had not been very fair to her.

"I can keep beer around. What's your brand?"

Soon, she returned to the living room with two plates full of steaming hot, fragrant, melty lasagna.

"Voila! Lasagna di Lydia. Bon appetit."

* * *

He rolled his eyes as she started in on the 'men are entitled' speech, simply turning back to petting the lump of black fur who'd curled into his lap.

"My brand is whatever ya buy. I like ale better than porter." When she returned with the food, he grinned, taking his plate with a word of thanks.

"Damn… this looks amazing, baby. I haven't had real food in decades." He dug into it with his usual horrendous table manners, moaning softly when he realized that he could actually taste it.

"God damn, I'm movin' in next week of yer gonna cook like this for me."

* * *

Lydia, even on the drunk side of tipsy as she was, maintained a cultivated set of manners and grace, starting in on her own meal with far more patience and elegance than her spouse.

"Mmmm," she hummed as the silky pasta, aromatic herbs, roasted tomatoes and melted cheeses combined on her tongue with spectacular results. "This is good. I don't think I can go back to boxed pasta if this is what I've been missing out on."

"I used to have to cook for Delia and my father. Well, not 'have' to. If I didn't, Delia would, and she sucks. So it just sort of worked itself out that way. But I like cooking."

* * *

"Well call me up any time yer makin' enough for two. Hell, I'll eat leftovers, I ain't picky."

He glanced over at her, daintily cutting and eating her pasta like a saint. Something clenched in his chest again when he remembered he'd have to leave. Again. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe he shouldn't have come back without being called at all. He was getting way too attached.

_Leave that poor girl alone._ Juno's advice still echoed in his mind.

"This is delicious, baby, but… I guess I better hit the bricks. I'm sure ya got shit to do before ya start that job…"

* * *

Having already exhausted the first attempt, Lydia didn't have it in her to beg him to stay again. It was embarrassing. He didn't need to know how desperate she was for a little company.

"I guess I should probably go buy some more professional clothes tomorrow…"

Unaware that she was pouting, her knife slowed in its trek through the pasta cake, appetite fleeing.

"Practice my Italian… Read up on the University…"

Work up the courage to reach out to her Mother. Compared to hanging out with her husband-friend-boyfriend-thing, none of these options were in the least bit appealing.

"But you don't have to wait for me to call you. You can just show up. If you knock. If you get lonely."

* * *

_If you get lonely._

He'd been lonely for centuries. She couldn't really want him around forever… she was being sweet. A good hostess. Unable to ignore his urges, he leaned over to kiss her soundly, his thumb caressing her cheek gently.

"I'll be back. Okay? Maybe not for a little while… time moves different down there, but. I'll be back."

It was strange to him to feel so attached to this little, fragile being. She was so important to him and he'd barely been around her. He needed to go.

* * *

She didn't tense or freeze up at this kiss, nor did she have the wherewithal to return it. Her lips did become pliant beneath his for the length of it, allowing him to mold her to his desire for a brief moment. He tasted like wine and herbs. Then, it was over, warmth fading even as he promised a return.

"Okay," she hushed against his still-close mouth, swallowing the sudden childish despair that wanted to her to cry for some awful reason. How embarrassing. No wonder he wanted to leave.

"Arrivederci. Is my accent better?"

* * *

"Worlds better, kitten." He kissed her one more time for the good meal before pulling away and standing.

"I'll see you soon, mi Tesoro. Call me if you need me."

And just like that, he was gone again. Back to his empty, dank grave that smelled nothing like herbs or wine or Lydia's shampoo or soft skin. Only dirt and solitude.


	4. Chapter 4

As promised, the very next day Lydia got a call from the library to come in for an interview. She didn't think she did too terribly well, and the interviewer didn't seem fond of her, but several hours later she got another call saying the job was hers. She wasn't sure how he did it, but he did it.

In return, she used some of the money he left her to stock the entire bottom shelf of her fridge with different types of beer so that the next time he showed his unkempt mug she could learn which brand he favored. It was the least she could do.

The library was far enough away to be considered a short drive or a long walk. Having no car or driver's license to speak of, Lydia deferred to walking. Luckily, Pavia was beautiful this time of year, not too cold or hot. A parasol kept the sun from staining her heliophobic flesh red. The job was okay. She could tell no one really liked her, students or staff, but she was used to that. They knew she didn't speak the language very well and took advantage of this to talk shit right in front of her.

The best part about it was all the books. It was easy to lose herself in a tome of ancient poetry and drown out the cruel foreign words hushed in the background. Today saw her walking home late, alone as always and nose stuffed in a book as she took the path from memory. The streetlamps were far between on this stretch of road, forcing her to squint to make out the words.

" _Non urlare."_

She froze. Something sharp was poking her in the back, a presence looming over her shoulders.

"N-non parlo italiano," she stuttered back, mind blanking on all she had learned in her time here, but she could remember enough. _Don't scream_ , the owner of the knife had snarled. The mugger scoffed, sliding a fist into her hair to wrench her head back painfully and hiss in her ear.

"Americana turista puttana?" He spit on the ground over her shoulder, disgusted. "Give me your money, bitch. Capiche?"

Shaking, she complied. Much of what Betelgeuse had left her was tucked safely into a bank account. All she had was a card that was useless to a mugger since it could be canceled and a few euros. Not even enough to buy a decent meal.

"This it? Merda. You have more. Give me."

"I don't," her head shook, her entire body shook, the knife pressing deeper into her back. "I promise."

Growling, he hauled her off in the direction of a nearby alleyway, darker even than the sidewalk. She was slammed against brick, the back of her head hitting the wall with a sickening crack that made her see stars, ears ringing.

"This worth something," the mugger hypothesized, toying with the camera around her neck before just ripping it off completely, the ferocity leaving a red lash around the back of her throat.

"It's not," she insisted, panicked, but remained limp lest he dug that knife in further. It was at her throat now.

"This?" He dragged her hand up, the one that held Betelgeuse's wedding ring. The ring that wouldn't come off her finger. "Avida puttana. Holding out on me," he tutted, waving the knife in front of her eyes. Without waiting for further response from his victim of the night, he tugged at it. And tugged, and tugged until Lydia couldn't hold back the cry of anguish. It hurt.

"Fine," the mugger spat, frustrated from his wrestling with the expensive-looking piece of jewelry. "You no need ten fingers. Nine is good, si?"

Time seemed to slow. He brought the knife to her ring finger, keeping her hand plastered painfully flat against the brick to serve as a chopping block. The blade sliced just enough to draw blood.

Lydia panicked. Her knee flew up hard, jutting right into the criminal's crotch, and then she was flying down the street; book, bag, and everything forgotten. Even her keys. She got to the apartment door before realizing they were gone and broke down sobbing, shock setting in fully.

Oh God, what if he followed her? She wasn't safe out here in the hall. Just then, a name popped into her head that had been escaping her, forgotten in the wash of fear.

"B-Betelgeuse…?"

* * *

Betelgeuse had been pouring his soul out to one of the girls at Dante's for hours. Usually, he'd come in for a drink, have a quick fuck and leave, but seeing as his bits wouldn't cooperate, he found himself just talking to the demonesses more often than not.

He was just droning on about the complex black of Lydia's hair when her voice flashed through his mind. Terrified, shaking. He scowled. "Gotta go, Trix. Put the drink on my tab."

He appeared in the doorway, still scowling. "Lyds?" Then he saw her. He dropped down to brush her hair out of her face quickly. "Baby? Lyds what happened?" He pushed the door open as though it had never been locked, scooping her into his arms and carrying her in and straight to the bathroom.

She was bleeding. He could smell it before he saw it, hurriedly digging through her cabinets for a first aid kit. "Shit. What happened? Come on, Tesoro speak up!"

* * *

For several beats, nothing happened, and Lydia was terrified that it didn't work and he wouldn't show. But then he was there, cocooning her in the safety of his arms and pulling her through into the apartment that had been her home the past few months.

Not expecting a visit, there was an embarrassing amount of empty wine bottles laying about, denoting the unhealthy relationship she had developed with the drink. Too far shaken to care, she trembled on the toilet seat, seeming smaller and more fragile than ever.

"I— I worked late tonight and I was walking home and— and it was dark. I'm so _stupid_. Sh-should've asked Francesca for a ride, but— but she _hates_ me."

The back of her head splintered with pain. When she brought her fingers there to test the area, it was wet and they came away red.

"He took my camera," she broke down further at this, releasing a fresh onslaught of ugly tears. "Wanted to take the ring, but he couldn't— and _oh God_. He was gonna cut off my finger." The wrist the mugger had handled was already beginning to purple, showing how very roughly he'd handled her.

"I kicked him and dropped my bag and ran— and— and—"

Her eyes went wide with fresh terror, flickering back toward the door.

"My keys! My wallet has my address in it! He has my keys! He can come back!"

* * *

"No, babes. No one is gettin' in here, cause I'm not leavin'. Shit. I can replace the camera and everything else but I can't replace you. You made it out that's all I care about."

He kissed her soundly before starting to bandage her up, the finger first. The ring moved for him, and he set it beside the sink carefully as he wrapped soft gauze around her finger and secured it. Her head was next… if she hadn't already told him how much she hated doctors, he'd take her to get checked out. As it was, he helped her bend back into the tub and washed her hair for her, gently rinsing every trace of red from her raven locks.

"You gotta stay awake for me, okay? Yer callin' in tomorrow."

* * *

"You can't replace it," she sobbed, moving wherever he directed her, but still lost in the throes of a panic attack. "No one can replace it. My Mom gave it to me. They don't even make it anymore."

She hyperventilated uncontrollably as he tended to her, gently rinsing blood from her hair until the water ran clear instead of pink.

"They'll fire me if I call in. They _hate_ me. Everyone _hates_ me. It isn't any better here than it was there."

At least no one in Winter River had ever attacked her physically. She longed to drag a blade over one of the healed over scars on her wrists and just put herself out of her own misery. But, like Betelgeuse said and proved, it wasn't worth. It wouldn't help anything. There was no escape. She was destined for pain and suffering. There was no such thing as freedom. She and Betelgeuse were playing a rigged game.

* * *

"Then I'll get it back! Calm down, mia Bella, I'm here. I can help you with whatever ya need."

_It isn't any better here than it was there!_

He scowled, running his hand gently over her head and feeling for the lump that had formed.

"Quit yer job. Ya don't need it. I don't know why ya wanted it in the first place. If they're not bein' good to you, you don't need em."

A snap of his fingers clothed her in a soft cotton nightgown and a terry cloth robe, far more modest than the set he'd conjured for their wedding night.

"Come on, baby. Let's go cuddle and get you calmed down, and then daddy will go find the asshole who took yer shit."

* * *

Her uninjured hand remained vice-like around his arm, keeping him close to her just in case he made to move away. He did not. Once she was comfortably clothed and he was gently tugging her up from where she was bent over the tub, she gave herself over easily, wrapping both arms around his neck and muffling her residual whimpers and cries into the hollow of his throat.

"I'm sorry," she pled as he scooped her up, moving away from the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom and toward her bedroom. A candle on her nightstand lit itself, the scent of mulled cider filling the room quickly as he settled in on the bed with her.

"I didn't want to have to depend on you for things… I'm not a gold digger…"

This was the phrase she'd used when he first made the proposal that led them here. Percy soon made an appearance, and Lydia snuggled the mewing black cat close as her husband did the same to her.

"I don't know what to do anymore… I thought I could make it on my own… I can't do anything right."

* * *

He held her tight, patting the cat on the head when he came to join their stack.

"Babes, yer sixteen. Being an adult is hard when yer ancient like me. You don't gotta do it alone and you aren't a gold digger." He ran his hand over her back gently, wishing he knew how to calm her down.

"This sells it. I'm stayin'. I can put on a glamour and be yer husband who just moved home."

He wasn't going to let her struggle when he could fix it. He pressed kisses to any part of her he could reach, making sure she stayed awake.

* * *

"I moved halfway around the world," she began in a hush, gradually calming from his gentle handling and sweet murmurs. Her voice wasn't quivering so much anymore, but if she pressed too hard it was sure to crack and distort again. "… and everything's exactly the same."

Would it be the same in the world of the dead? She was too timid to voice the question. He might see it as a return to suicidal antics, decry her the irresponsible child she really was.

"I don't want to be alone anymore."

The tears she gave were silent now, flowing in a steady stream even as her breath slowed and heart rate calmed.

"I don't want you to go… I never did…" This was an embarrassing confession as well, but he wouldn't judge her. He wouldn't mock her. He was the only one. "… but I don't want you to have to stay. I want you free and happy…"

* * *

"Babes all ya had to do was ask… I thought you wanted to do your own thing. That's why I kept leaving." _And I was afraid of how much I feel for you._

"I'm not goin anywhere from here on in. Yer stuck with me. Now… let's dry those tears and find something to keep ya awake that won't hurt yer head." Just as he was saying this, he heard the front door open. A dark expression came over his face and he tucked Lydia into her pillows as he stood.

"Stay here. I'll take care of him." His human glamour fell onto him seamlessly, this time shirtless and wearing pajama pants. He scowled as he walked into the living room.

"Can I help you?"

* * *

Lydia tensed all over again when she heard the door open, going quiet with fear. What would have happened if she hadn't called her husband? It was unpleasant to dwell on and so she didn't, instead pulling the blankets and Percy up tighter around her to make up for his lack of embrace as he walked away. It was easier watching him go knowing he would return this time, but only marginally.

He was going to do something bad.

The intruder— the mugger— had used Lydia's wallet and key as she predicted to track down her home, knowing an easy target when he saw one. Besides, without her keys, she wouldn't be able to get in, right? She would go somewhere else, leaving the pickings behind…

Or so he thought. He hadn't counted on a husband. Stupid, rookie mistake. Laughing nervously at the larger man, he backed up slowly, brandishing his large knife— still stained with Lydia's blood.

"Calmati," he smiled easily, not yet fearing for his life. "I leave. No one needs to get hurt."

* * *

An easy grin slid over his face when he came face to face with the man who'd hurt his wife.

"Oh, si. Si. Calmati."He took a step toward the man, an evil glint in his eye. "Sbagliato. Hai provato a ferire la mia donna." He swung back and cracked a punch square against the man's jaw.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Preying on little girls. You some kind of pervert?" He aimed a kick at the man's ribs when he collapsed, sneering down at him.

"Where's the shit you took? I want it all back. You have thirty minutes or I'm gonna find you and get it back outta yer blood. Understand?"

* * *

The other man moved too quickly for the intruder to anticipate. In a blink, before he could even attempt slashing forward, he was taking a brutal right hook to the jaw. Several teeth scattered across the floor with that single punch. He moaned his pain out loud enough for Lydia to hear clearly from the bedroom, crying out horribly again when a barefooted kick hard enough to crack a few ribs came barreling to his side.

"I no stupratore," the intruder pleaded, genuinely meaning it. "Just money! All I want was money! _Per favore!"_

When no more strikes came, he whimpered, gathering himself slowly to crawl toward the door.

"I bring back things. Just wait, signor. Lo prometto, per favore!"

* * *

"Thirty minutes. Take the teeth with you." He took back her wallet and keys which the man had on her and stalked back into the bedroom.

He went straight to the bathroom to wash his hands, making sure the mugger's blood was off of his hands before going back to the bed and curling back in with his wife.

"I'm taking care of it. Don't cry, babes… he's gonna bring everything back if he knows hats good for him. There's nothing to worry about… daddy's gotcha now."

Lydia stayed tense and upright in bed until he returned, looking entirely too small in the cozy queen. Except for her eyes. Those were far too large, bloodshot and leaking. She couldn't make out what was being said, just hissing male voices… up until the intruder started begging. She heard that.

"Sh-should we call the cops?"

As he returned to bed, she dove back into his arms with a pitiful sound, Percy with her, still putting up with her death squeeze.

"D-did he hurt you?"

* * *

"Nah, I'm just fine. He didn't even try it. And when he returns your stuff I'm gonna have him turn himself in."

He pressed kisses to her face, anywhere he could reach and tried to calm her. "Don't worry. I'm here now, remember? For good."

He wished he could give her some wine or something to calm her, but with her head injury, he didn't want to risk it. He could always use his magic to put her to sleep, but that wasn't good for her either. He had to push through.

"Hey. I see ya filled up that bookshelf. Why don't you go pick a book and I'll read to ya for a while."

* * *

On shaking legs, she made to follow his direction, leaving Percy to his care for the moment. The furry beast was purring and limp, absolutely loving all of the attention despite his ignorance as to why he was getting it. She returned shortly with _The Divine Comedy_ , in its original Italian text.

"I'm only a couple pages in."

She tucked herself back up close to him, pressing her cheek to his chest, injured hand curled.

"To help me learn. Will you stop if I don't know a word?"

* * *

He smiled as she curled into him and put on his glasses. "Of course I will. Though try to remember, the language may have been updated since I spoke it every day."

He started from the beginning, holding the book in one hand while the other traces shapes and abstract letters into her back and shoulders. Every so often she chimed in with a word she didn't know and he did his best to translate.

If only Juno could see him now. He was sure she was keeping tabs on his location. Maybe she thought he was here to con his sweet bride into consuming their marriage. Either way, there was nowhere he'd rather be.

There was knock at the door. He set the book down and kissed her gently. "I'll be right back."

* * *

Scarred on a deeper level than she knew, she took several paces of progress back when she heard the knock, once more stiff and wrought with fear at the appearance of her mugger.

"Be careful," she whimpered from the bed, watching with quiet horror as he reapplied the glamour and made off to deal with their visitor. Still very badly beaten and bleeding, the no-name mugger was still trying to limp away by the time Betelgeuse came to the door. He'd left Lydia's bag, book, and camera unmarred and undamaged in a neat pile on the welcome mat. His intention was to knock to knock to give alarm that it was there within the given time limit, then scurry away before more harm could befall him.

He was mistaken.

"Is all there," he pleaded from halfway down the hall, terrified at the sight of the chubby, half-naked husband. "I very sorry, Signor. Per favore, no more. La signora, she kick almost as hard as you do. I so very sorry, per favore."

* * *

Betelgeuse made a show of checking for everything, picking it all up before shooting the man a look.

"Don't move." He carried everything inside to the bedroom and put them in Lydia's lap with a kiss before going back into the hall.

"So. You like to pick on little girls, but get real scared when their husbands show up. That's pathetic, signor. You know that, right? Well, buddy. I'm gonna do my very best to scare ya straight."

In a flash his glamours all fell away, leaving his true form in its wake. The molding, decayed flesh of his true self was even worse than he'd let Lydia see. His eyes were serpentine, his jaw seemingly unhinged part way and hanging from its hinges.

"Boo."

* * *

All blood drained from the mugger's tan, scruffy face, turning him almost as pale as the girl he'd made the horrible mistake of targeting. Several new white hairs sprouted from his scalp. His jaw dropped in a silent scream, his lungs unable to catch up with his body's sudden, visceral terror. But they did eventually.

From back in the bedroom, Lydia heard a singularly horrifying cry. She was almost tempted to go check and see what was happening, but Betelgeuse's clear instructions to stay put could not be ignored. He was back momentarily anyway, wearing the skin she was most accustomed to seeing him in; decrepit and moldy and very clearly dead.

"… what happened? Did you… hurt him?"

She was intimidated by the prospect, but wouldn't begrudge her husband if he had. She didn't need to see any evidence to know that she was married to a man who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty.

* * *

He held up his hands as though showing that they were clean. "Didn't put a hand on him. He's gonna remember to not mess with sweet girls from now on, though."

He settled back into the bed and gestured to her things. "Make sure it's all there." He rubbed her back gently, wondering if she was afraid of him now. There was no way she didn't hear the mugger scream.

Percy flopped onto his lap and he stroked his hand over his soft fur. He was happy to be staying now. Clearly she needed a slightly terrifying husband at home to keep the creeps away.

* * *

"It's all here. My book is wet… but that's not his fault. I dropped it."

It _was_ his fault, but Lydia was ready to call them even by now. Whatever Betelgeuse had done, she trusted his judgment that it was effective.

"Even when I was taking the subway to school in New York, I'd never gotten mugged before," she confessed shakenly, cuddled right back into his snuggly, chubby side once he was within arms reach.

"I didn't even think to call you until I got home and couldn't get in. I should've called you immediately. You promise you're not going anywhere?"

Her eyes were closed, and her speech dragged just a little bit.

"I'm getting tired, Beej…"

* * *

"I promise, kitten. I'm not goin anywhere."

_I'm getting tired, Beej…_

He frowned and sat up some, taking her with him. "I'm sorry, baby but ya gotta stay awake. At least for a while, okay?"

He ran his hands through her hair, looking into her eyes to try and gauge if she was alright. He wanted to let her sleep but knew that if she did before she was completely alright she may not wake up.

"Hey, come on. Gotta stay up. Let's go do something uh… cookies? Ya wanna bake some cookies with me?"

* * *

Logically, she knew he was right, but her frown pulled deeper at his insistence she stay awake.

"Okay," she whined, rubbing her eyes and pulling reluctantly from the blankets. "I like cookies."

It was only once she trudged back into the rest of the apartment that she remembered what a mess it was. There was a tipped-over basket of undone laundry, a sink full of messy dishes, the trash needed to be taken out, and half a dozen empty wine bottles were laying around.

"I'm sorry," she croaked, embarrassed by the disarray. "I've been… depressed. I'll take care of the dishes."

* * *

He frowned. At least she was coherent. A snap of his fingers fixed everything, the dishes washed and put away, her laundry clean and folded. The wine bottles disappeared, though the corks remained, arranged on the counter into the beginnings of a trivet.

"Nothin' to worry about. I told ya… daddy's home so you got nothin' to worry about." He picked her up and set her on the counter, putting his glasses back on to pour through a cookbook stolen off of her shelf.

"Now… what kind of cookies do you want, buttercup? Chocolate chip, or… snickerdoodle? Peanut butter?"

* * *

Lydia watched with a bleary gaze as the apartment righted itself in an instant, all of her chores done as if she hadn't been wasting away here for weeks on end.

"Woah…" she held onto him for stability as he lifted her up onto the counter until she was confident her dizziness had faded.

"Peanut butter chocolate chip."

That sounded delightful. She hadn't actually eaten yet, excepting the multiple espressos she'd had throughout the day that didn't seem to be doing anything for her now.

"Does this mean we're not going to try to get divorced anymore? Are you my husband-husband and not my fake-husband?"

She would have slumped back drowsily against the cabinets, but the hard surface hurt the wound at the back of her head, forcing her upright.

"I'm okay with that. If that's what you want."

* * *

He smiled and summoned all the ingredients to get started on her requested cookies. He looked up at her when she asked about real husbands vs fake ones and smiled.

"If that's what you want, then yeah. I'm your real husband." He kissed her gently before returning to his recipe.

It took him far too long, but he managed to get the cookies in the over before returning to his wife and rubbing her thighs gently. "Hey. You wanna go to the Neitherworld with me tomorrow?"

* * *

"I never thought I'd have a real husband. I'm not cute. I like it when you say I am, though… You're a good husband. Even when you weren't my real husband."

She learned that if she turned her neck extremely far, she could rest back, cheek sliding smushed against the cabinet. For a few moments, she dozed off. When she came back, blinking awake slowly, her husband was rubbing her legs over her nightgown, insisting upon her conscientiousness.

"Neitherworld? Neither, not nether? Is that where the dead people go…? I want to go…"

* * *

"That's where dead people go." He confirmed, nuzzling his nose to hers for a moment. "Why don't I get you some nice cold water. That should keep you awake some."

He brought her the glass and held the bottom as she took it, not quite trusting her bruised brain to hold onto the breakable cylinder.

"We'll go tomorrow. I'm gonna keep ya up for… maybe another hour. And then we'll go take a nap. Okay?"

There were always newly dead doctors trying to still practice downstairs. He would take her tomorrow and hope he could be enough support for her to get checked out.

* * *

Lax and obedient, Lydia drank the water he brought to her lips, savoring the rush of cold on her parched throat.

"Thank you," she licked her lips, ducking forward for more. "I was thirsty…"

She didn't seem to have much of a filter at the moment.

"I want to nap so bad."

This was the closest she came to an argument, knowing better. She wouldn't be getting her way here. She shouldn't get her way here. But her eyes were so heavy. The oven dinged as he hovered over her, petting and kissing and keeping her from fading back into oblivion. The sound alarmed her into a more conscious state. When had he put the cookies in the oven? Did she miss it? She must have, because he was retrieving them now, not bothering to use oven mitts on his cold hands.

"Isn't that hot? You'll hurt yourself…"

* * *

She was so tired. He felt awful for having to keep her awake, but it was necessary. He didn't want to wake up and have to get her from the waiting room.

The cookies were finished so he pulled them out, setting them to cool on the range top.

_Isn't that hot? You'll hurt yourself…_

"Oh. Nah. Dead, remember? Can't really hurt myself. If it ain't happening to my physical body, it won't happen to me. And my body's probably dust by now."

He let the cookies cool before put them haphazardly on a plate and bring them to his wife with a kiss. "Your cookies, princess."

* * *

They were still hot, the chocolate melty and decadent on her tongue. There was no crunch, the warm dough immediately surrendering under the pressure of her teeth. The flavor made her groan shamelessly, eyes fluttering closed in bliss.

"They're sooo good. You should be a baker. I would go to your bakery every day and get fat and happy, like Percy."

Percy meowed indignantly from the floor, decidedly unhappy with Mistress's description of him. It didn't take her very long to demolish half the plate despite her sluggish motions.

"Mm… when I'm not sleepy, I'll make you oreo brownies. It's my mom's recipe. She makes _the best_ brownies. She didn't make them very often because she had to stay skinny for photoshoots, but they were _the best_."

* * *

He chuckled softly.

"Nah, I'll bake for ya at home. We don't need a bakery. And brownies sound great." He checked his many watches and smiled. She was still lazily eating cookies. When she was finished, he kissed her forehead gently.

"Guess what. Naptime."

He'd still have to wake her once an hour to make sure she was alright, but at least she'd get some rest. He pulled her into his arms and carried her toward the bedroom. For once, he was going to get to climb in with her.

* * *

A happy little purr hummed up her throat as he gave permission to go to sleep. She was already halfway there as he tucked in next to her. The pillow was pulled sideways until she could cuddle it like a doll and bury her cheek against the soft cotton. When she felt the bed dip, she scooted back minimally, completely unabashed and unashamed to be pressing her tush up against his crotch. After all, he was her husband-husband now and that earned him certain rights.

"I listened to you," she confessed vaguely before dreams took her, elated to feel his arm curl solid and heavy over her waist, pulling her the rest of the way against him, happy to be the big spoon. He was shirtless again, but the hand in front of her face was still mottled, riddled with dirt-encrusted claws. Exhaustion took precedence over curiosity, or else she would have wanted to turn around and explore him further.

"I didn't play with myself anymore… I wanted to… but you're right… it should be with a person…"

* * *

He chuckled as she snuggled back into him, wrapping her in his arms and nuzzling into her neck. He was just about to try and turn his brain off for a while when she dropped that little tidbit on him. He growled softly into her hair, squeezing her.

"Good girl. Maybe when yer feelin' better, we can play around a bit."

He slid his hand onto her thigh and sighed contentedly. He'd be awake in an hour to check on her, and again after that. It was going to be a long night.


	5. Chapter 5

Every hour like clockwork, her husband was there to drag her kicking and screaming back to consciousness. She would whine at him, push feebly when she realized he didn't want anything and was just checking up on her, then promptly descend back into oblivion.

After a half dozen more rude awakenings like this— in truth, he was being very polite and sweet about it— she sat up with a huff, kicking the blanket off and socking him with her pillow to get the frustration out.

"I'm fine!" She cried, pouting, groggy, and veritably upset. "Let me sleep!"

* * *

Her disgruntled anger seemed to be building with each checkup, and he was ready for the pillow when it came flying toward his face.

He chuckled softly. "Babes, you know I can't. Hey, you wanna go see a friend of mine since yer up? A dead friend, to be clear."

He kissed her cheek and down to her neck, knowing he could get punched square in the face for it. "Come on, baby… it'll be short and we'll come home and sleep all day if you wanna."

* * *

"Fine," she groaned, pushing him harshly away, nearly out of the bed, before flopping back down and covering her head with the pillow she used to beat him. Her actions didn't match her words. She appeared ready to go right back to sleep.

"You make coffee. Enormous jerkface."

A sleep-deprived Lydia was a mean Lydia, apparently.

"I'm not getting up without coffee. I hate you so much."

* * *

"Aw, baby. I love you too." He pulled up the pillow far enough to kiss her cheek and then dropped it again, a pot of hot, fresh coffee appearing on the nightstand along with a couple of pastries and cream for the coffee.

He poured her a cup and pulled the pillow back, wafting the coffee under his wife's nose. "Mmm. Doesn't that smell good, Tesoro? Aaa. Cafe fresco…"

"Guess I'll help myself since you're so tired…."

* * *

"Gimme that," she snarled like a wounded wildcat, wiping his stupid kiss off of her cheek. Slowly, she pulled herself back upright, stealing the coffee he was holding and stirring in cream until it was a very light shade of brown.

"Sugar," she demanded, eyes closed to the light coming through her drapes, face caught in a semi-permanent grimace. He supplied it promptly, and Lydia was just as generous with the sweetener as she was with the cream.

It was delicious. Once a third of the cup was downed warm in her tummy, she nibbled at a fresh apple scone. It was warm and perfectly toasted, the crust flaky and buttery. It made her want to be awake so she could eat another.

"… I hate you less."

* * *

He chuckled and leaned against the headboard, waiting for her to drink her fill in silence. When she finally spoke, he looked up from petting Percy and smirked.

"Oh, you hate me less? That's probably good for our marriage." He pulled her into his side and kissed her temple. "Let me know if you want anything else."

He conjured a paper and pen, hastily scribbling out a note to the Neitherworld Primary Care Clinic and sending it off in a flash of flame. A reply appeared quickly, letting him know a doctor would be ready for them when they arrived.

* * *

"I want to go to sleep," she pouted back without missing a beat at his offer of "anything else."

He thought she was too tired to pay any attention to what he was doing, but he was wrong. She was always interested in his goings-on. He was a _ghost_ , and that made him the most interesting person Lydia had ever met.

She watched as he scribbled something, only catching her name on the first note. On the second note, she caught "clinic."

"Uh-uh," she refused before he could try and trick her, going tense at his side. "I _hate_ doctors. I'm not going to the _stupid_ doctor and you can't make me."

* * *

"This is a Neitherworld doctor. I thought maybe that would be a bit better. These doctors have had time to keep up on the latest research and make sure their practices are perfect."

He kissed her cheek, pouting playfully. "I just wanna make sure my wife is alright. And I'll be there with you every moment. She does somethin' you don't like and I'll call the whole thing off."

He ran his hand over the back of her head, wincing at the size of the lump that had formed on her skull. "Please, babes. For me…"

* * *

A facet of panic filtered through her honey-colored irises. She flashed back to the psych ward, the way the orderlies held her down on the gurney to strap her in for the ECT treatments, the icy demeanor of the physician who administrated them, the way he ignored her begging and pleading to _stop, no please, not again._

They didn't care what she wanted. She didn't have any rights. Delia and her father signed off on it, so who cared what she thought? Definitely not the doctor.

"Swear," she made him promise, knowing he wouldn't let this go if she didn't give it a shot. "Swear you won't go anywhere, and you won't let them do anything bad. Swear on your freedom."

* * *

He cupped her cheeks gently. "I swear. On my freedom, my power, anything you want. I won't leave your side for a second. And I'm gonna hold ya as tight as you want, okay?"

He kissed her forehead gently. He knew this was a traumatic experience for her, but they needed to have her checked out. He clothed her with a snap of his fingers, a comfortable sundress that was barely more clothing than her nightgown.

"There's no rush. We don't have an appointment, just a doctor ready for when we get there. Whenever you feel ready, we'll get it over with. Okay, baby?"

* * *

She believed him. Mother, Father, Delia, and the doctors may not have cared, but Betelgeuse cared. She could count on that at least. He had nothing to gain from wasting his time at a clinic and forcing her through something she didn't want to do, nothing but the reassurance that she was okay.

"I'm never going to feel ready."

The dress was black, in line with her tastes, with long sleeves that covered her mutilated wrists and a hem that ghosted down to just below her knees. She tried to brush her hair, but even gentle motions pulled at the angry wound on her skull, so she settled for a ratty ponytail. Her eyes were bloodshot, dark with heavy circles. Paired with the gauze around her ring finger, she looked a right mess.

"I look like shit. Even more than usual. I look like I belong in the… Neitherworld."

Saying it felt silly, but she couldn't say "Netherworld" ever again knowing how terribly incorrect it was.

"Fine… let's go. Don't leave me, okay?"

* * *

He rubbed his hands down her arms, already dressed in his usual stripes while she tried to fix her hair. He kissed her shoulder, taking her hand and squeezing.

"I ain't goin anywhere."

In a blink, they were in an entirely new space. The world around them seemed wrong, a bright orange sky fading to purple at the horizons and a constant state of dusk or dawn made the Neitherworld… otherworldly.

The clinic was maybe half a block away, and Betel held onto Lydia tightly, unsure why she was so afraid of a simple checkup. But, if she wanted him close, he'd stay as close as he was allowed.

"Welcome to the Neitherworld, babes."

* * *

Expecting it this time, she was only thrown slightly off-balance when the world bottomed out beneath her feet, dropping her into another one altogether. Her husband was a rock beside her, keeping her steady when she felt she might blow away with the wind.

It was _beautiful_.

Awed, her gaze flittered up and down and across, trying to take in everything at once. There were dead people everywhere, each bearing the marks of their death proudly and unabashedly. They walked together and as individuals, in and out of storefronts, running errands casually as if they weren't dead and gone and lacking responsibilities of any kind.

It was disorienting to think about, making the bump on her head throb, and so she focused instead on the strangely lit sky. There were three moons, each larger and more luminous than the last.

"How…? Is this… this can't be real…"

* * *

"It's about as real as I am. So… take that how you will."

He held her close as they walked up the block, people of all ages, eras, and endings walking past them. He kept Lydia to the inside of the walkway, not wanting any unsolicited attention to fall on her.

The clinic was stunningly normal, save for its patrons. Betelgeuse only knew it existed because they helped tend to pain and discomfort from death wounds, and he occasionally let them crack his back for him.

The relief never lasted long, but it was worth it.

He walked straight to the receptionist and she scrambled out of her seat. "We'll have you right back, Mr. B!"

* * *

He kept her close as they approached the clinic, letting her walk on her own, but she could tell he was tempted to just haul off and carry her around like an invalid. He was big enough, he could scoop her up with one hand if he wanted.

He was much, much larger than her, often taking advantage of this vast difference in size to press kisses and affection when he was feeling overly amorous and she wasn't particularly receptive. At the moment, Lydia appreciated it, much as she had the previous night when she was scared and all she wanted was to be comforted. He gave it, a gargantuan hand heavy on her shoulder as he steered her toward the back room, the receptionist immediately letting them in despite the line of people still waiting for care.

"There were other people here first," she objected lightly, staring back at the waiting room with guilt. "It's really not that serious. I can wait."

* * *

It took everything in him not to just pick her up and go and at his own speed. She was tiny and had tiny legs. That made her slower than hell. He was ready to go, dammit. In the waiting room, she started to protest and he shook his head, waving a hand as though showing her the other patients.

"All these assholes are dead. You are not. You get seen first."

Sure enough, within ten minutes they were called back into a room. This time he didn't bother putting her down, just stood with her still in his arms and carried her into the back.

They were greeted by a relatively young-looking female doctor. There was an obvious gunshot wound through her shoulder, but nothing else about her would suggest she was dead.

"Hello, there. I'm Dr. Howard. I understand you had a rather nasty run-in with a mugger last night…?"

* * *

Rather than setting her down on the bed, he sat in the spot where the patient would usually go and settled her on his knee, establishing himself as her seat for the visit. She was happy the physician was a woman. That paired with her deceased status made her oodles less threatening than any of the doctors Lydia had dealt with in the realm of the living.

"Yeah," she confirmed for Dr. Howard, shrinking into her husband's lap as the doctor moved forward as if to touch her.

"He sliced my finger and hit my head on brick. I feel fine though…"

"Well, why don't you let me be the judge of that, okay? You could feel just fine right now and only have symptoms show up later. Head injuries are funny like that. Would you like a sucker while I check out that bump? We've got cherry and green apple and blue raspberry…"

In life, Dr. Howard was a pediatrician and used to calming scared children, so she was prepared for someone as skittish as Lydia. Her voice was warm and soft, and she had a nice smile that worked at placating the distrustful young girl.

"Cherry, please."

* * *

Betelgeuse held his wife closer when she pressed into him, rubbing her back gently. "See? Dr. Howard knows what she's about. And I'm not goin anywhere."

The candy was produced from the doctor's pocket, a small bit of magic that Betelgeuse could appreciate. He liked to pull random shit out of his pockets too.

Lydia still seemed nervous, but far less so than he anticipated. He half expected tears. "I patched her up last night… there was blood in her hair. I dunno if that matters… oh, and her finger. I don't think it needs stitches…"

He very carefully took her tiny hand in his, undoing the bandages he'd haphazardly wrapped her in the night before.

* * *

The Doctor tutted at the cut on her finger.

"You did a good job wrapping it up. Let's let it breathe for now. That's not going to need any stitches. Now come on, sweetheart, let me see that bump…"

Very hesitantly, but urged on by her husband's gentle direction, she shifted on his lap until her face was buried against his chest, the back of her head bared to the Doctor's evaluation.

"Oh, that is nasty," she hummed with a frown, carefully moving Lydia's mass of tangled hair out of the way to check it out. The split was about an inch and a half in length, crusted over with dried blood, but still open to the air in places. "That, I'm afraid, is going to need to be stitched up."

"I don't _want_ stitches!"

This was muffled into his striped jacket and the sucker on her tongue, making her barely audible.

* * *

Betelgeuse frowned and rubbed her back in slow circles. Stitches weren't in the plan. "You can numb her up, right? You have the stuff? I know you're usually workin' on dead kids so they don't need it but…"

He held Lydia a little tighter. "Isn't there like… glue or somethin'? Somethin' that hurts less?"

He didn't want her to have to get the stitches either, but he trusted Howard to know what was best. "Hey… look at me, kitten. I'm gonna be right here and hold ya the whole time. There's nothin' to be afraid of."

* * *

Dr. Howard frowned in consideration.

"I could do a combination of glue and staples, but then she'd have to come back to have them removed eventually. The thread I have for stitches is designed to degrade gradually over the healing process. Let me check my stores. I might have some Novocain tucked away somewhere…"

"I'll do the stitches," Lydia conceded quietly, as the doctor dug through her cabinets, searching for things she didn't think she would ever have a use for again. "I don't want to come back."

"I'm so happy to hear that," Dr. Howard grinned back at her, sticking a needle into a bottle of clear liquid. "Your wife is very brave, Mr. B."

Lydia didn't feel brave, not watching that syringe fill up with an unknown chemical. It threw her back to when she got too agitated in the psych ward and the orderlies forced tranquilizers into her system. She felt like she was going to be sick.

" _I want to go home,"_ she whimpered loud enough for only her husband to hear, still buried against his chest, refusing to look at the Doctor while she did her scary things.

* * *

_I want to go home._

"Soon, baby… we're almost done and then we can go home and sleep for the rest of the day if you want to. Right, Doc?"

He put his hand between her shoulder blades, holding her tight when the doctor approached with the syringe. "Here we go. Deep breath."

The numbing agent was administered, tiny pricks of the needle in her scalp three, then four times. He kissed her forehead firmly. "Good job, babes. See? Not so bad…"

* * *

At the first prick, she squeezed him until her knuckles turned true white, several tears leaking onto his jacket. The physical pain was nothing compared to the memories. But after that initial injection, she couldn't feel anything. Just the gentle brush of Doctor Howard moving her hair out of the way. She didn't even realize she'd begun threading the needle through her scalp until it was done and the woman was stepping back to give her space.

"There we go! All finished. You're going so well, Lydia. Now if we were in my practice topside, I would want to give you a head scan to more thoroughly assess the damage, but… well, we don't have any of those machines down here. So I'm going to ask you a few questions, and I need you to be completely honest with me, okay sweetheart?"

Lydia nodded minutely, still buried against her husband's snuggly chest, face hidden beneath his jacket.

"Other than exterior discomfort, have you experienced any headaches?" Lydia nodded. "Do you have one right now?" Again, she nodded. "What's your pain, on a scale of one to ten?"

After a few moments of thought, she mumbled, "five."

"Mm… okay. Can you let me see that pretty face, honey? I need to check your pupils."

With some cajoling from her husband, she separated her face from his jacket, aiming her pouting countenance and watering eyes at the Doctor. Dr. Howard frowned as she shone her mini flashlight across each iris, noting the way her pupils remained dilated.

"That's a concussion alright. I would prescribe you some pain meds, but that's another thing we don't have down here. I trust you can provide, Mr. B? Anything will do except for blood-thinners."

* * *

He watched as the doctor examined her, one large hand over her stomach as he held her against him.

_That's a concussion alright._

He should have killed that mugger. He kissed her cheek, then her temple, trying to keep her calm. "Yeah, yeah… I can get the drugs. What else do we need to know?"

After the doctor reminded them to limit activities that might cause strain, like TV or reading, they were sent on their way. Betel didn't bother putting her down, instead popping them home straight from the exam room.

"You did so well, kitten, really. I'm sorry we had to do that, but hey. At least now you're all patched up and we don't gotta go back."

* * *

Lydia was glad to be out of the clinic and its depressing sterility.

"It wasn't that bad," she admitted, ashamed of how childishly she'd behaved. "If I have to go back, I'd rather go there than anywhere up here. She was a nice lady. I feel bad for being so… chicken shit."

The apartment still smelled like cookies and the pastries he conjured that morning. She inhaled the delicious scent deeply, still cuddled snug in his arms.

"She's crazy if she thinks I'm not going to read, though. That's just silly. Reading won't hurt my head… _Oh shit_."

Frowning, she pulled back, struggling to be let down.

"I need to call the library! I'm late! I don't want to no-call-no-show."

* * *

"Hell no. It'll make ya feel worse, so you're not reading. And a police officer already swung by the library to tell them you were mugged and injured. They can't call you in for at least two weeks while things are… under investigation."

He sat her on the couch and went to get her a glass of orange juice before conjuring the anti-nausea and painkillers the doctor had recommended.

"Now, you take these every six hours. That means I'll wake ya up once early… but it's better than every hour, huh?"

* * *

Stubborn to a fault, she scowled up at him from the couch, arms crossed in indignation.

"I'll read if I want. You're not the boss of me."

Two weeks off from work sounded nice. His suggestion that she quit was still ringing around in her head, tempting her. Who knew if she would ever go back? She examined the medication before swallowing it, recognizing one of the pills. _Xanax_. Delia used to down those like candy.

"This is going to knock me out," she announced before popping both of the little pills down her gullet. "Thank you for taking care of me. I appreciate it."

* * *

"Well, what are husbands for? I wasn't gonna let you suffer." He plopped down beside her and ran his hand over her back and down to rest at the small of her back.

"Besides, I was lookin' for an excuse to move in any way." He nuzzled the top of her head, hoping she would start to feel better sooner rather than later.

She was so small, so delicate. He wondered how anyone could look at this perfect, sweet little thing and wish her harm. It was ridiculous. He peppered her with kisses, holding her tight against his side.

* * *

The way he was pawing at her made her flesh heat up under the modest little sundress. They were married, right? She could touch him back, couldn't she? Mind made up, she took it upon herself to crawl back into his lap. She wanted _more_.

"Kiss me," she requested, even as he did just that, right on the tip of her nose. That wasn't what she wanted, though. She stretched up, thighs spread obscenely wide to accommodate the width of his lap and pressed her lips to his on her own.

They didn't open when she lashed her tongue against them in an inexperienced, undisciplined fashion; making her feel more like a messy puppy than a sexy woman.

" _Kiss me."_

* * *

He was shocked by the kiss, the sudden come on throwing him off. She'd only initiated kisses once or twice before, and never from spread obscenely over his lap.

He was conflicted. On one hand, he wanted her desperately, and on the other, he didn't want to raise her blood pressure and risk hurting her head worse. The two concerns battled in his mind as she licked at his lips, making them part just barely as he processed his next move.

He pulled her tighter into him, careful of how far her legs had to spread. "Kitten, be careful… yer head…

He pulled back just slightly to look her over before making up his mind and pressing his lips to hers again, harder than her own timid kisses.

* * *

For a moment, she feared self-consciously that it had all been a show or ploy, and that he wasn't actually attracted to her, that she was making a fool of herself. Then, he kissed her back. It was intense, not quite rough, but definitely a higher ferocity than her gentle kisses and licks.

She melted, pressing closer, burying her hands in his wild hair to encourage what he was doing. One of his big hands moved down her back, stopping once he got to her ass to squeeze and knead in a way that made her whimper against his tongue.

Her head was _fine_. He and the Doctor both were overreacting. She couldn't even feel anything, nothing but what he was making her feel, and those sensations were nothing short of exquisite. Heat unfurled in her belly, prodded and stoked further when she felt something big and hard swell up between her legs. Following instinct, she rocked down against it, whining into his mouth when the pressure against her panty-covered mound shot a dose of pure pleasure up her spine.

"You said we could play," she reminded, nipping at his plush bottom lip. It was warmed from their heated make-out session. "I want to play _now_."

* * *

Her hungry pursuit of his lips had him hardening in his slacks faster than he'd care to admit. Her rocking against him did absolutely nothing to help it, either, though he was still afraid of hurting her.

_I want to play now._

He groaned and ran his hand over her thigh, fighting himself to keep calm. "Babes, I don't wanna hurt ya… I… here. I have an idea."

He hiked her skirt up and slid two fingers questingly over the seam of her panties, groaning when he was met with warm, damp material. "Shit. Ya really want this, don't ya?"

* * *

Thick, sausage fingers pet delicately over the thin, damp cotton of her panties, causing a downright pitiful mewl to bubble up her throat.

"Uh-huh," she nodded to his stupid question, lashes fluttering, leaving little butterfly kisses against his cheek. "I don't want to be a virgin anymore. I'm not scared. You _couldn't_ hurt me."

Never. He wasn't capable, even if he wanted to. He was far too sweet, too caring. That he even thought such a thing was possible only made her want him all the more.

"Mmm," she purred, pressing herself down on his hand while suckling at a delicious spot on his neck, following whatever lusty inclination popped into her head unabashedly. "Fuck me. Please?"

* * *

Her pleading and mewling did nothing to ease the issue in his pants. She was so soft and sweet… and a Virgin.

"Not tonight, kitten… wanna wait until ya feel all the way better." He kissed her gently. "But hey… we can still have a lot of fun…"

He pulled her up panties to the side, rubbing his thick finger over her. She was far too small to try and finger without some pain, so he'd forego it and explore for the time being.

He ran his calloused finger over her labia softly before sliding it up to press firmly at her clit, watching her reaction with hooded eyes. "How's that feel, kitten?"

* * *

A horrible, wonderful flush swept over her as he caressed her most delicate place, her eyes nearly crossing when he pressed against her clit.

"Ungh… good…"

He was so solid and strong beneath her, one of his large hands holding her up and tight against him by the ass while the other explored her dripping little pussy. She could twist and writhe however she wanted and wouldn't be going anywhere, not with her gentle giant holding her steady. He kept her level with his face and she took advantage, taking him in kiss after kiss while her hips rocked in his hand, pushing the soft, wet flesh harder and harder against him as her pleasure built.

"I feel," she panted hotly against his mouth when she broke for air, chest heaving, "all tingly… it's _hot…_ "

Knowing he wouldn't let her fall, she pulled back just enough to pull the dress up over her head, revealing her small, snowy breasts to him for the first time. She was right back to kissing him before he could properly appreciate their shape, the icy shade of pink that made up her pebbled nipples.

* * *

He gaped at her tiny, perky breasts as long as he could before she reclaimed his lips. He groaned and rocked up into her, his cock straining the fabric of his pants as he ran his hand up her back, the other pinching gently at her clit.

"God damn, you're so beautiful… lemme look at ya." He leaned back, his eyes raking over her hungrily. She was perfectly his type. Petite, pale, and eager. It was as though his spank bank had jumped out of his head.

He set her down on his thighs long enough to pull his jacket and shirt off, pulling her back up to kiss her when he could get them skin to skin.

* * *

While he undressed, Lydia shameless ran her tiny hands over the enormous bulge at the crux of his trousers.

"Wow," she breathed, fascinated. "You're _big_."

This didn't scare her either. Lydia wanted it. She would have been perfectly happy to impale herself on the thick tool in his pants and ride her way to oblivion, but Betelgeuse had other plans apparently. Before she could reach for the zipper and free him, he took the choice away from her, hauling her back up into another heated makeout session. It was better now, his furry chest scratching pleasantly against the soft swell of her breasts, her hands exploring his bareback, arms, and shoulders curiously.

"Lemme… ungh…"

She squirmed until he lowered her, the heat between her thighs settling snug over his still-covered cock. They couldn't kiss from this angle, but they could do other fun things. Working on instinct, her hips rocked, sliding her clit against his bulge the way she had the sex toy before he interrupted her. It couldn't be called "dry humping", the crotch of her panties so soaked from her juices that they were practically nonexistent.

White teeth nipped his purple nipple, her short fingers digging into his thickly muscled tree-trunk like biceps as she rode him with increasing intensity.

"I want you," she confessed, arching back over his forearm to give him a better view of her chest. "So bad."

* * *

He moaned as she pressed her hot core to him, rocking over him like she could somehow fuck herself through the layers of cloth that separated them.

He huffed and growled softly as she arched back over his arm, taking the opportunity to dive down and suck at her soft, baby pink nipple.

"God damn, you're so sexy…" He rocked into her, eager to get them both off. "Hold… hold on." He pulled her up to take the chance to undo his fly, his cock pushing out of the zipper without his assistance.

He brought her back down to rub his hard member directly into her soaked panties, groaning her name. "That's better, huh?"

* * *

"Oh… _fuck…_ "

He was huge, the thick rod of meat falling heavily against her belly as he plopped her down against it, the fat head smearing a sticky dab of pre above her belly button. There was less friction now when she humped against him, her wet panties sliding with less of a hitch. Eager for more, she hooked her feet under his bent knees, used one hand to slide her panties to the aide, the other to pull the shaft of his cock directly against her slick pussy.

From here, she used the muscles in her legs to slide herself up and down eagerly, wetly, like a stripper on a pole.

"So good," she gasped, sliding herself up dramatically just long enough to use the plump mushroom head to massage her clit, her fingers too short to wrap around his monstrous girth. "Oh… oh Beej… why can't we fuck? I don't understand… I wanna… I wanna… _ah!"_

She froze. Her kiss-bruised lips parted in a silent scream. Her muscles tensed, that tiny hand squeezing tight around his dampened cock as she came, a fresh gush of moisture dripping from her slit, down the ridges of his cock, one drop even making it past the teeth of his zipper to kiss his balls.

* * *

He was about to reiterate for her why they couldn't go all the way when she froze. For a moment he was afraid he'd done something to hurt her, but then her release dripped warm and wet down his length and onto his balls.

His eyes went dark, his cock twitching as though appreciative of the warm wetness now running down its girth. "Fuck…. Lyds…"

He hauled her up to kiss her roughly before turning her around and plopping her back into his lap. He slid his cock between her legs and then used his knees to press her thighs together, forming a tight, soft pocket for him to thrust up into.

"God damn, Lyds that's it… one more. Cum one more time for me…"

* * *

She was still stuck in the throws of the first orgasm when he took her in that devouring kiss, then moved her around as he liked. Not too gone to be mindless of her injury, she turned her head, pressing her cheek back against his hairy chest as he began rutting against her pussy and between her thighs, her release providing a slick glide for him.

_One more._ Could she? He thought she could, so she would. Still enamored with his substantial manhood, she ran her fingers over it whenever it plunged up between her thighs, pulling it closer to her so the head slid against her belly and the pressure on her clit was tighter.

"Mmf," she moved with him as best she could in his domineering hold, squirming her hips, trying to work with him. "I want this inside me," she confessed boldly, absolutely in love with his cock. It was beautiful. She wanted to kiss it, and lick it, and feel what it was like pounding up inside of her instead of this pseudo-fucking they were doing.

"I bet it feels so good… I bet it's _Heaven_... It's so pretty… can I suck it? I want to…"

She'd probably have a difficult time even getting her mouth around the head, but damnit if she wouldn't try.

* * *

"Sh-shit… we got time for all that baby, DON'T wanna rush… I'm not going anywhere."

He reached up to squeeze her tits gently, his hands engulfing them entirely as he pressed and fondled them. "You're so good, baby… I can't wait to fuck you too, but it's gonna take work. I won't charge in and hurt ya."

He pressed his chin over her head, panting as his long tongue rolled out of his mouth to tease at her lips. "I'm close baby…. come for me one more time… ya feel so good…"

* * *

When his supernaturally long tongue slithered down to ply at her lips, she opened up for him obediently, deigning to suck on that instead. His rough hands were so gentle on her breasts, completely engulfing her chest with their enormity, helping massage her back up into a fever pitch.

Everything was getting fuzzy again, yet sharper. Her vision blurred, but she was acutely aware of every beastly noise he emitted, every sharp, powerful thrust between her thighs.

"Fthuck," she lisped around his tongue, writhing as best she could in his tight hold. "Fthuck me… mmm… ungh… ah!"

Again, she went rigid in his arms, tiny thighs and hands squeezing tight around his thick, still-fucking cock.

* * *

Her second orgasm was all it took to send him careening over the edge. He thrust up against her as far as he could as he came, his cold release spraying up her stomach and chest, some going so far as to land on her chin.

He huffed and panted as he came down from his high, still holding her breasts as his chest heaved under her with unnecessary breaths. He groaned and dropped his hands to her thighs as his cock started to soften against her stomach.

"Damn… that was amazing. You were so good for me… let's get ya cleaned up." He scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom, sitting her on the counter as he ran a washcloth under hot water.

"So. First orgasm. How was it?"

* * *

The lighting in the living room had been dim. Under the harsh fluorescent lights in the bathroom, Lydia found her shame. God, some of the things she'd said to him had been _filthy_. Where did she learn how to talk like that? She dared a hesitant glance in the mirror over her shoulder, only to turn a deep shade of rose at the sight of a splash of cum on her burning cheek.

Jesus Christ. Suddenly shy, she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes as he questioned her on the experience, gently wiping a damp cloth over her sullied belly and chest.

"Uhm," she bit her lip, braving a glance up, before returning to staring at his belly. He was chubby and hairy, but she liked it. "It was good. Thank you."

* * *

He chuckled as she suddenly turned demure on him, wiping her clean with a gentle hand. "Aw, baby… don't get shy on me now. You were perfect."

When she was sufficiently clean, he ran the cloth over his cock and snapped his fingers, dressing them both in soft flannel pajamas. "Bedtime?"

It was still early, but she'd been exhausted. He had forced her into a restless sleep the night before. "Or… dinner? Are ya hungry?"

* * *

With them both sufficiently covered again, it was easier looking him in the eye, but not by much.

"Both," she admitted, reaching both arms for him in an indication that she would very much like him to continue toting her around like an invalid, please and thank you. "Hungry and sleepy. Can you _poof_ mac n' cheese? I love mac n cheese."

"You can have all the mac n cheese you want, baby girl." He scooped her up, as requested, and toted her into the bedroom.

Settling in against the headboard, he summoned a large bowl of macaroni and cheese, the homemade kind with rich sauce and breadcrumbs on top.

He put his glasses on and picked up their book. "Where were we? Let's see… I can read some more since you're not allowed to."

* * *

The mac n' cheese was perfect, gooey and melty and delicious like mac n' cheese should be. His insistence that she wouldn't be reading made her scowl into her spoon.

"I'll read all I want and there's nothing you can do to stop me. Jerkface."

Lydia was a horrible patient. Despite her defiance, she listened intently as he read, not even making it through half of the enormous bowl of macaroni before passing it off to him and sleepily tucking against his side. The long night and morning were catching up to her, not to mention the Xanax.

"I'm falling asleep," she informed, fighting it nonetheless to keep listening to the story growled out in his perfect Italian. "You're staying, right?"

* * *

He took the bowl and set it aside without even looking up from his book, wrapping his large, muscled arm around her as she cuddled into his side.

_I'm falling asleep._

He glanced down and her and chuckled. Her eyes were already half-closed, her body getting heavier against him as she dozed.

_You're staying, right?_

He ran his hand up her side gently. "Sure am. I told ya, I'm movin' in. You're gonna be stuck with me. I'm sure you'll be sick of me in a couple of days, and then you'll still be stuck with me."

He bent over awkwardly to kiss her forehead. "Get some sleep, Tesoro. I'll be right here when you wake up."

* * *

"Never be sick of you…" she murmured back, cuddled safe and warm against his hulking form. So much of her was laying over him, he was practically a bed on his own. She could probably curl up on top of his chest and belly like a cat and sleep just as deeply as she would on the mattress alone. Probably better.

"You're cool… Like Elvis."

This was a ridiculous thing to say. Luckily, once six hours passed and it was time for him to wake her up for more meds, she'd completely forgotten saying it at all.


	6. Chapter 6

"Elvis is a loser."

He let her sleep for as long as he possibly could, watching her back rise and fall steadily. It was hard for him to comprehend… being here with her, and not out partying at Dante's or working a job. He could be doing any of those things… nothing was making him stay…

Except for the way her soft, bruised lips parted in her sleep, or the way she curled closer to him, her face wrinkling as she dreamed. Maybe it was making lasagna together in the kitchen or the bottom shelf of her fridge, packed with beer that she didn't drink.

He wasn't sure if it was any or all of those things that tied him so tightly to his little wife.

When it was time for her meds, he gently woke her and gave her the pills with a cup of warm tea, hoping that the warmth would help her go right back to sleep.

* * *

It did. She only came back just long enough to take her pills, sip down a third of the cup of chamomile, then crawl up onto his torso the way she'd wanted to earlier and return to dreamland. By the time she woke naturally, the sun was down, and Percy was batting at Betelgeuse's feet at the foot of the bed, obviously agitated with him for some reason.

"That's not nice, Percy," she tutted in a croaking, half-awake voice, eyes half-lidded. Clearly, she was reluctant to waken fully but unable to sleep any longer.

"What time is it? How long have I been out?"

* * *

She slept for a long, long time. He was about to wake her for another round of meds when she started to stir on her own.

Percy had been begging for food for a while now, and Betelgeuse ignored him. He was far too engaged in watching Lydia slowly return to consciousness.

"It's 8:30 at night. You slept for like… twelve hours. He's mad because he's hungry, and he doesn't believe me that there's food in his bowl." He conjured it there thirty minutes prior and the cat still hadn't checked.

"How ya feelin'? Those meds doin' okay? You're due for more."

* * *

"I don't want anymore," she groaned, trying in vain to return to sleep. "I feel fine. That doctor's a quack."

Immediately, she regretted saying this. Dr. Howard was perfectly lovely, her only sin being that she was indeed a doctor. All sorts of grumbly and grumpy, she slid down off her husband-bed and stumbled to her feet. She was a bit wobbly at first, limbs weak from disuse, but gathered herself quickly enough.

"Are you hungry-kitty, Percy," she baby-talked the furball, pulling him up into her arms while he kept trying to swipe at Betelgeuse. "You miss mama? She didn't mean to clock out on you. Come on, fuzzy, let's get you some num-nums."

* * *

Betelgeuse sat up and grumbled as he followed her into the kitchen. "He has food! He just doesn't believe me!"

He scratched his stomach and yawned. "What does momma want for breakfast?" He pulled open her fridge and grabbed a beer. "Or.. dinner… it's been like twelve hours since ya ate."

He didn't want to make her eat, but he also knew that the medication would be hard on her stomach. "I'm thinkin' waffles."

* * *

"Mmm," she hummed, rubbing at her eyes tiredly after setting her dumb cat in front of his full bowl. "Where'd that mac n' cheese go? I want that."

With a blink, he produced it from places unknown, still warm and toasty, the spoon right where she left it. Licking her lips, she got comfy on the couch and dug right in, appetite raging.

"No more Xanax. It makes me loopy. I'd get the same effects out of a joint, minus all the…" she twirled a finger next to her head, the international symbol for "fucked in the head."

* * *

He plopped beside her with his beer and wrapped his arm over her shoulders. "No more Xanax. You got it."

He realized then that he hadn't actually checked in on her all that much. He rubbed her arm as he thought things through. She was here for a purpose and he didn't even know if it had been achieved.

"So. Have ya been to see yer mom yet? I know ya said she's busy. But. You haven't really said much about it…"

* * *

The mention of Mother made her almost choke on her mouthful of mac n' cheese, struggling to swallow it over the lump in her throat.

"I uh… I haven't seen her yet…"

How dreadfully embarrassing. She'd been here for two months now and hadn't even been able to sprout a pair of testicles long enough to knock on her own damn mother's door. What was she so afraid of?

"I tried to one day… but I chickened out and ended up drinking coffee at a café outside her apartment for six hours. I'm such a loser."

* * *

"Hey, hey… no. You're not a loser. You're my wife. That makes you awesome right off the bat."

He squeezed her gently and kissed her head. "I don't even know… how close you guys are. I mean. When was the last time you saw her? A couple of years, right?"

He didn't want her to feel like she had to see her, but that was why she picked Italy, wasn't it? "Maybe she's not home. She travels, right? I mean… maybe we can go together…"

* * *

"Yeah, she travels. She got married young. She probably wouldn't blink twice if I showed up with a husband."

_Probably_. She probably wouldn't give two shits.

"I lied to you before. We don't actually write all the time. My Dad cheated on her with Delia, and that's… after that, she was just gone. And Delia was there instead. And I was supposed to just be okay with that."

How could she blame mother for not wanting to look at her, the product of her failed marriage?

"You can come with me if you want. Help me not be such a chicken shit. You got me into a Doctor's office. That was pretty impressive."

* * *

"We can go once you're feelin' better. That's not a problem. She's gonna love seein' ya."

What kind of shitty father cheated on his wife and then expected his daughter to cope with suddenly having a new mom? Mothers didn't just come and go.

He kissed her cheek, then temple, then the top of her head, littering her with affection without interrupting her meal.

"About that… why do ya hate doctors so much? I mean… Howard is as chill as they come and even she freaked ya out… I know it ain't a gendered thing. That's why I took ya to a broad."

* * *

She sighed deeply at the question, scraping the last of the cheese from her bowl with her spoon. It was too good to let go to waste. Once she was satisfied, she set the bowl on the coffee table and took time rolling up the sleeve on her right arm.

"This one," she pointed out a darker scar, letting him take her frail wrist into his large mitt to look over the ugly, jagged flesh, "severed a main artery. I had to have surgery on that wrist, and my Dad was pissed so he signed off on letting them keep me on suicide watch for two weeks."

The way she was speaking was slow and steady, emotionless and monotonous, removed from the event.

"Have you ever been in a psych ward? It's basically an insane asylum. Jail for crazy people. I didn't… take it well. When I wasn't screaming and throwing things, they had me on tranquilizers. The doctor suggested ECT as a form of treatment for my 'depression' and 'erratic behavior'. Dad signed off on it."

Her brows furrowed as she combed through the past, trying to recall what it was like.

"They had me under for the shocks, but I didn't want to do it. They would come for me, put me on that fucking gurney and jack me up with drugs before rolling me in. That's the only part I remember. Going under… and coming back. I don't like chunks of my memory just being gone like that. That's why no more xanax."

* * *

He listened closely, feeling his blood boil with each detail revealed. Of course he'd been in a psych ward. Crazy people were the most fun to haunt. Half the time they were the only ones who could really see the supernatural.

And he'd seen ECT. It was horrible. Electric shock straight to the brain making people seize on the table. It was supposed to help, but he never saw how.

He took her hands and squeezed. "No more Xanax. And no more doctors unless they're necessary, and then we'll see doctor Howard. We can have ya on pot for yer pain, nausea, depression… all of it. Go all-natural."

He cupped her face gently and kissed her soundly. "Yer not crazy. Yer not makin' stuff up, and I promise that all of this…" He gestured between them to signify their relationship. "This is real. Okay?"

* * *

This was dangerous. She loved being with him entirely too much. Was this really going to last? He said she was stuck with him, but maybe that was just until the novelty wore off for him, or he got bored with her. Maybe it was just her self-destructive side making the decisions now, but Lydia was ready to take her chances.

Those hands of his could crush her head like an egg. Instead, they cradled her very gently, simply holding her in place for his kiss, which was equally soft and sweet.

_This is real. Okay?_

"Okay," she whimpered back, heavy with emotion. He was her life now. Without noticing, completely by accident, she had given him everything she had to give, and unlike everyone else she knew, he not only accepted it, he wanted more. More than just her hand in marriage and her entire life, her heart belonged to him. Hopefully, he could be trusted with it.

"I've never done… this before. Just… be patient with me if I mess up, okay? I don't want to lose you…"

* * *

"I've never done this either, babes. Not the… the whole thing. Ya know? Usually I uh… I'm with a girl for a night or two. I've never had a wife. Not even before."

He sighed and settled her on his knee, turning her to look at him. "Now. What are we gonna do today? It can't be anything strenuous, and it's already pretty late, but… we could go to the Neitherworld."

He smirked softly. "I can show ya all my old haunts. Everything down there is pretty much open 24/7 so we can do anything you like."

* * *

Just like that, Lydia's energy levels shot up. Almost bouncing on his knee with excitement, she jumped on the opportunity he offered to go and visit the land of the dead again.

"The Neitherworld!" She agreed emphatically, shaking her head yes until the back of her skull began to ache and she had to stop, pressing her face against his jacket to calm any impending headaches.

"Can I see where you stay when you're there? Like, your house? Or whatever? Or anything else you think is cool? I think it's all cool, so I don't care where we go."

Her hair was an absolute mess still from all the sleeping and excitement. As long as it was, if she went a day without brushing it there would be trouble. As of now, it had been… two? Three? All the sleep had left her woozy on the passage of time. She squirmed as if to jump down from his lap.

"Just let me get ready. I'm a mess."

* * *

He chuckled at her enthusiasm and let her go, following her into the bedroom with a shrug. "I think ya look great but fine. And we can check out the Roadhouse long as ya don't mind meeting my renters."

He scratched at his gut and kissed her temple. "Told ya, anythin' ya want. We could get a place down there if ya like. Use one or the other for a vacation house."

He dressed himself with a snap and thought over what she might like to see. "We could go to the Necropolis. Out in the real Ancient parts of town. Some cool people out there. Homer, Aristotle."

* * *

The way he so casually name-dropped famous ancient philosophers as though it was no big deal only excited her further. She rushed through brushing her teeth and washing her face while he continued haunting her bathroom. However, there was no half-assing her hair problem. She sat at her vanity in the bedroom, Betelgeuse following of course, and began the tedious process of working out any tangles and knots in the thick mane, struggling not to tug on the stitches as she dragged a brush through her tresses.

"I'll live anywhere you want to live," she conceded easily to his romantic suggestions. "After I see my Mom, depending on what she says… There won't really be anything for me here. Other than her. And you know. She's busy."

"We can always come back, too." He took the brush out of her hands and worked the ends of their hair until they were smooth before he split it in three and started to braid it down her back.

* * *

"We could go see your mom this week.. while you're out of work. If you want to. I can look like anything ya want. Hell, I could be anything ya want. Maybe you should be married to a crocodile."

He kissed her cheek as he finished the braid, summoning a jeweled clip to slide into her hair at the top of the twist. "Beautiful."

* * *

Lydia couldn't recall ever having a man tend to her hair before. When she was younger, it was always her mother handling her unruly tresses, her father not having time for such girly nonsense. Betelgeuse was so gentle, taking his time with working through the knots, only using the slightest pressure so his brush strokes wouldn't pull at her scalp. She couldn't see him in the mirror, but she could see her hair weaving in and out of the braid and it was both comical and sweet to imagine what it must have looked like for his meaty hooks to be doing such delicate work.

Feeling all sorts of warm and fuzzy by the time he finished, she sucked in her lips in a bashful smile at his sweet kiss to her cheek.

"Thank you. I think I like you just fine the way you are, but Mother probably wouldn't be too thrilled… no offense."

This was working under the assumption that she cared at all.

"She likes money and power. Do what you will with that information."

* * *

"Money and power, I can do. Must be why she liked your dad, huh?" He winced. That came out wrong.

"Anyway… let's get goin. We can swing by the Roadhouse first and pick up rent." He smirked. He loved rent day. He took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

In a blink, they were outside a ramshackle building that boasted a massive sign. BJ's Roadhouse.

He knocked at the front door, using his manners for once considering that his wife was with him. "Yo! Open up! Rent's due, fuckers. 50 years full!"

* * *

" _Sacre bleu! Was zat Bee-attle-joos?"_

" _Couldn't be. He's still got a century left ta go. Remember how much trouble he got into after that last job? Tsk tsk tsk. When will he learn?"_

" _Eet sure sounded like Bee-attle-joos."_

" _Well go answer the door and find out!"_

Lydia watched curiously, unsure what kind of tenants her husband might keep. Of course, she was veritably charmed when the door finally opened and a very tall skeleton stood before her wearing a pencil mustache and an expression just as surprised as hers.

"Eet _EEZ_ Bee-attle-joos, Ginger! And he has brought un petit fille with him!" With a gallant bow, he didn't even bother addressing his crotchety, moldy landlord, instead taking Lydia's small hand in a gentlemanly, bony kiss in greeting, making her blush. "Bonjour, mademoiselle! My name is Jacques, and eet eez wonderful to be meeting you."

"Lydia," she returned simply, charmed by his appearance and mannerisms. "The pleasure is all mine."

* * *

"Nah, the pleasure's all his. Move, bonehead, we need to get inside. The wife wants to look around the place. Ya better have taken care of my place, LeLean. Where's your girlfriend, she's gonna love her."

He pushed past him, pulling Lydia by the hand into the living room. The place looked good. Far better than it ever had with him living there. It was even clean.

"Yo Ginge. Come meet my missus. Bring the rent down with ya. I know you two got a stash up there."

* * *

"Oui, oui, excusez-moi, where are my manners? Please, come inside."

Ignoring that Betelgeuse had already muscled his way through the door with his alleged bride, Jacques proceeded as though his landlord wasn't behaving in a beastly way at all. At Betelgeuse's call, a large pink spider descended from a spiral staircase. Rather than taking the steps, she lowered delicately from an almost invisible line of silk coming from her thorax.

Lydia was in love before she ever spoke.

"Ya gonna have to give us more notice than that, BJ!" The spider frowned as she provided a little less than one month's rent. "Me n' Jacques wasn't expectin' ta see ya fuh anothuh hundred years or so. N' what's this I hear about a missus? You finally settlin' down? It's about time!"

* * *

"Rent is rent! You shoulda been sendin' it to me in Connecticut, ya freeloader." He swatted at her, making her swing from her thread as he reached past her to look for her stash in the ceiling.

"That's Lydia. She let me out, we got hitched. We're madly in love and I'm showin' her around because she can't read or watch TV because some asshole tried to mug her."

He laid hands on a tiny purse and pulled it out, popping it open to look inside. A fly flew out of it and he snatched it out of the air, shoving it in his mouth. "Damn. Too easy. I'll cut ya a deal, but I'm gonna need some dough, Ginge!"

* * *

Jacques and Ginger both seemed to not give a rat's ass about Betelgeuse's money woes, far more interested in the tiny mortal tagging along with him that he claimed to be his wife.

"Cannot read? Mugged? Did ze brute take your glasses, cheri? I am sure Bee-attle-joos has an extra pair around here somewhere…"

"Can't watch tv?!" Ginger was horrified. "You poor thing!"

"I can read," Lydia insisted, "and watch tv. It's not that serious, Beej is just overreacting."

At the sound of the darling nickname, the skeleton-spider duo shared a warm, heartfelt look of delight.

"Oh, BJ, she's perfect! I'm so happy for you, I could cry!" She already was, pulling a handkerchief from places unknown in order to dab at the corner of her eyes. "I'm sorry we don't have any money. We was gonna have it for ya when ya came back, honest! We just… y'know, didn't think you could use it up there."

* * *

He groaned. "Ya don't have anythin'?" He checked his pockets. Nothing.

This was going to be a short date if he didn't have any cash. He was busily looking through the couch, under the floorboards, anywhere he could think of when he heard the others cooing over his wife.

He turned to look at them and smiled softly. "She is perfect, ain't she? She's the cutest. Come on, Jacques. You gotta have some money!"

"Non, Bee-attle-joos. I am… how you say… flat broke?"

Lydia frowned at her husband's blustering. He was flipping couch cushions, tearing up floorboards, just absolutely wrecking the place.

"Beej, what do you need money for? I thought you could just poof whatever you needed."

"Not our money, he can't," Ginger answered for her, shaking her head at the buffoonish landlord making a mess of their home. "He prolly wants ta take ya on a date so you don't wise up and leave him."

Lydia's brows furrowed at the careless comment, the frown on her lips pulling deeper toward the floor. Never. If anyone was going to be leaving anyone, he would be the one leaving her behind in the dust. Luckily, Betelgeuse was too busy furiously turning out the kitchen cabinets to hear Ginger's derogatory comment. Cautiously, Lydia tiptoed up behind him, tugging on his cuff to get his attention.

"Beej…? I don't care if you don't have any money. We can just walk and look at stuff. I'm not hungry or anything. I'd be happy just laying out on a blanket and looking at the sky. There are _three moons_ here."

* * *

He turned to look at her, something in him twanging painfully at the thought of not being able to provide for his wife. He sighed and snapped, putting everything back.

"We can do that… maybe up in the Parthenon. It's beautiful. That is, if people ain't prayin' at full volume again. I don't get it. Should know the truth now."

He shrugged and took her hand, kissing it gently. "I guess we'll go up there now. Jacques, ya got a month. I want the rent startin' now." He pulled Lydia into his side. He still didn't like being broke. Maybe it was better to stay topside.

* * *

"Bye Jacques! Ginger!" Lydia hasted to call her goodbyes before she could be spirited away by her greedy husband. "It was nice meeting you!"

"Oui, cheri, you will always be welcome here! Au revoir!"

"Buh-bye Miss Lydia!"

Neither tenant had a word of parting to leave behind for their landlord. Waiting for the rush, expecting it, Lydia held on tight to his side when he pulled her in, ready to be swept off her feet.

* * *

He stood outside the house a moment, lost in his thoughts. Lydia deserved the world. Anything she could possibly want, she should have… and here he was. Broke and out of society for fifty years.

A freak.

He turned to look at her before he transported them, plopping them right in the middle of what looked like a busy marketplace. People in chignons and togas were everywhere, buying and selling and trading for things that most humans would only see in museums.

With a snap, he changed Lydia's clothes, putting her in a breezy linen dress, tied at the waist and draped in the neckline. She looked every bit like a goddess, stepped off of one of the frescos.

"Welcome to the Necropolis. Try not to stare at the ones missing body parts. Most of them are from Pompeii."

* * *

_"Woooahh."_

If he hadn't made such a show of not having any money, Lydia never would have been any the wiser. She was far too enraptured with their surroundings, the hustle and bustle of the bazaar, the deceased and their bartering. A woman with fashionable snakes making up her dreadlocks was bickering back and forth with a man with coins covering his eyes, demanding a lower price for the vase she wanted because it was chipped.

Lydia's fingers itched for her camera as she whirled around, scarcely noticing the change in outfit until her skirt twirled with her, the cream gossamer fabric lighter than air.

"Oh," she flattened her palms down her thighs appreciatively, before gently tugging her husband down by his tie for a grateful kiss. He was choosing to remain in his striped suit for the outing. "Thank you, Beej! It's so pretty. I wish I had my camera. Could you poof it, please?"

* * *

He kissed her quite happily, glad that she was content if nothing else. The requested camera was handed to her from midair and he put his hand on her waist as he led her up the path through the middle of the market.

People seemed to part for them as though they were afraid of touching them. They stared wide-eyed as they paused at stalls to window shop, the reminder of his empty wallet making Betelgeuse frown.

He'd stopped at a booth full of jewelry, wondering if he could pocket some when a little boy absolutely coated in ash ran up to them, delicately pulling at Lydia's dress to get her attention.

"My momma says to give you this." He held up a crown of flowers and wheat woven into one another in shades of pink, yellow, and white. "She says you must be our lady Persephone. We've waited for you for a long time."

He seemed far more hesitant to talk to Betel but bowed deeply as he'd clearly been taught and held up his hands, full of beetles. "For you, Lord Hades." Betelgeuse smirked and took a beetle, popping it into his mouth.

He didn't have the heart to correct the boy, whose mother had a baby on her hip in the stall behind him, watching closely. With a wave of his hand, the insects became jewels, raw and not worth much topside, but certainly a good bargaining chip here.

The boy's eyes went wide. "Thank you! Momma! Momma look what he gave me!"

* * *

"Lady Persephone" didn't have the heart to correct him either. What else was he supposed to think? When his tiny, ashy fingers pulled at her gown, it continued to glow ethereally, coming away unbesmirched by soot. No, she had no other choice but to play the part.

"Thank you so much," she beamed, kneeling down and bowing her head to allow the child to place the crown of otherworldly flowers. "It's so beautiful. I can tell someone worked hard on it. Bless you, sweetheart, and your mother and sister as well. You promise to be a good boy for her, yes? Do everything you're told and don't give her any sass?"

"Never, milady," he promised eagerly with wide eyes, still astonished that he had come this close to what he believed to be divinity. He addressed Betelgeuse after this, aptly naming him Lord of the Underworld and displaying a tribute of beetles collected from a modest garden. Her husband's little trick with them enamored her to him more than she already was. As the child ran off with his treasure, Lydia laced her thin arm around her husband's, laying a delicate grip on his forearm as they continued their stroll.

"That was… something else," she commented quietly, well aware of the eyes on them. They were approaching a fountain at the square of the bazaar, a triad of marble mermaids in the center filling it perpetually from their tilted basins. Spirits flanked them from all sides, clearing away out of either fear or respect once the poltergeist and his wife came near. Hers was the only reflection present in the rippling surface of the pond, a collection of coins littering the bottom. They resembled the gold pieces she saw on the merchant's lids and had seen on other spirits as the passed.

"Do you have a coin, my Lord husband Hades?" She asked with more than a hint of tease, enjoying the game. "I want to make a wish. Any coin. A penny will do."

* * *

He smiled when she seemed to lean into him more. More people seemed to be aware of them after the exchange, a few children running alongside them as they made their way toward the forum.

Stopped at the edge of the fountain, he dug in his pockets and came away with a penny. He handed it to her with a kiss to her cheek.

She looked a vision in her thin linen gown and flowers. There were people starting to gather around them slowly, which he didn't care for much, but understood. If these people thought they were gods, it was understandable that they'd want to be close to them.

One woman approached and touched his sleeve. He frowned and turned to look at her. She shrank back. "Your clothing, my lord… it is strange. I have clothing, please. I will dress you, Majesty…." He considered the offer.

Turning to Lydia he shrugged. "What do you think, darling? Want to play dress-up?"

* * *

Holding the little copper piece close to her chest with serenely shut eyes, Lydia made her wish.

_I want to be with Betelgeuse forever._

The words were mouthed, only breath of the vowels moving past her lips. Only once all of her love and hope and energy had been imbued in the coin did she release into the pond, watching hopefully as it sank slowly to the bottom to join all the gold and silver.

"Lady," a little girl who couldn't have been more than five or six tugged on her long sleeves. Lydia was grateful for them. Surely, if these people could see her scars they would think differently of her. Already she was feeling a modicum of guilt for allowing them to fawn over her, but it was too late now. If she told the truth, all that adoration might quickly turn into something else.

"Can I pway with your hair?"

She was absolutely precious, with golden curls and a makeshift doll hanging from her hand. Immediately, Lydia sank down to the cobblestone and was pounced, little children from all around gathering to ask her questions and offer trinkets; a flower here, a pretty pebble there. She took out the jeweled comb and braid that Betelgeuse had weaved in order to allow a gaggle of girls to play and mess as they wished, biting back winces whenever they accidentally tugged too hard and agitated her bump. Any discomfort was worth it.

By the time Betelgeuse came questioning, she had tiny intricate braids woven all throughout her hair and a lap full of treasures.

"Well I like my dress," she answered her husband when he caught her attention again, aiming a sympathetic smile at a seamstress to the side who was hoping to clothe her in rich fabric as well. "Sorry. And I like your suit, milord. But if the people want to bear you their gifts… when in Rome?"

* * *

"When in Rome." He pointed a finger at a little boy, older than the rest but still a child. "You. What's your name?"

The boy jumped to attention. "Adonais, Lord."

Betelgeuse smirked. "You're in charge, Adonais. I'll be right back. Keep an eye on my wife." The boy nodded eagerly, taking up post beside Lydia with his arms crossed.

He followed the seamstress and was quickly bombarded with cloth and metal. Before he knew it he was stepping back into the plaza, draped in deep black fabric trimmed in silver and gems.

He came back with a bemused look on his face. "Dearest. Are you ready to continue our walk?"

* * *

Lydia was in the midst of teaching some of the children how to play patty cake, a game that was after their time, when Betelgeuse emerged dark and foreboding, looking every bit the Lord of Hell he was impersonating.

"Coming!" She cried, scrambling to her feet childishly in a manner she thought unbefitting a Goddess, but the children seemed unfettered. "Thank you for protecting me, Sir Adonais."

Stooping down, she pressed a quick smooch to the brave young boy's cool cheek, causing him to blush a wild shade of violet. As they walked away, she heard his mother come rushing up afterward, whispering something about blessings and laying on of hands.

Practically skipping, she rejoined her husband, holding up the front of her skirt as a makeshift purse to hold all of her treasures.

"You look so handsome. Look at what the children gave me! Pheobe said that this was her favorite seashell and that it was good luck. Cassandra had a bat skull, and look! It's _perfectly_ preserved. I'm going to put it on my bookshelf when we get home. Rhea said this one came from the Dead Sea…"

Chatty and excitable, she showed him each of her treasures, naming each child it came from and why it was immensely special.

* * *

Betelgeuse listened contentedly, happy to revel in her excitement. She was like a child herself, bright and happy and every inch the things that Betelgeuse was not.

He sent things home when her skirt got awkward to hold, sliding his hand onto her back. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. How's your head with your new hairstylists pulling at it?"

As they approached the temple at the top of the hill, he tilted his head. Being in the world of the dead, the temple that belonged to Athena topside had been recommissioned into a temple to Hades and his bride. Half the temple was filled with flowers and golden shrines, female attendants cleaning and maintaining the temple for their goddess while chatting together. All of them were teenagers, most seemingly having died the same way. There were deep wounds through their chests.

Sacrifice.

He held Lydia closer, turning his attention to the part of the temple dedicated to his supposed role. Silver and black marble encased most of it, burning fires surrounded by offerings of insects and alcohols, though no attendants. One priest in dark robes was stoking the fires, silent where the women were chatty.

Then the statue. Now that he really looked at it, it looked eerily like he and his wife. A tall, brooding king sat in his throne, his two-pronged spear held in one massive hand. Perched on his knee was a smiling nymph of a teenaged girl, crowned in flowers and draped in thin material much like his wife was now.

"Woah… this is really somethin'. I haven't. Been here in a while."

* * *

Lydia had only ever seen pictures of the Parthenon, but this wasn't right. Wasn't this supposed to be Athena's temple? With awe and wonder, she stepped lightly along next to her husband, so gone in her examining she almost tripped over the long train of her dress when he stopped before the statue.

"Wow…" She wondered along with him, captivated by the larger than life carving. "He looks just like you… no wonder they think we're—"

"Lord Hades! Lady Persephone!"

The temple attendants chose now to notice that their visitors were not average run of the mill devotees there to pray and give respects. The sacrificial lambs rushed to their side before falling flat to the ground, foreheads pressed to the stone, arms outstretched in the deepest of bows.

"We have kept the temple maintained for a millennia, your graces. Please, let us serve you."

Guilt burgeoned deep in Lydia's chest. It was one thing to play with delighted children. It was another thing to mislead these poor girls, some no older than herself.

"I… I'm not…"

The truth caught on her throat, and she aimed a pleading look at her husband. The priest, who had kept his silence and distance since their arrival, approached now, using his foot to nudge at the head priestess with her face still smushed to the ground.

"Up, Calliope. Can you not see you are making our Lady uncomfortable? Goddess Persephone is not bound by petty mortal desires. Please her Lord and she too shall be vilified."

Turning now to Betelgeuse, the priest bowed deep and smooth. Once he came up, he flourished his arm, presenting the temple to them both.

"We are honored by your presence, Lord and Lady. If you are willing to grace us further, please make use of the bathhouse, or the winery, or any of the tributes laid for you. They belong to you as assuredly as we do. Let this temple be your home until you see fit to return to overseeing the pits of Tartarus."

* * *

This whole thing was too real. Why'd that statue look so much like them? Why were all these people so sure they were their deities.

Oh well. Free shit.

He pulled Lydia close and nodded solemnly. "Thank you. You've done very well. All of you." The girls giggled and muttered to each other excitedly.

"We would love to stay for a while. We're not here for long, however… simply passing through." One of the girls darted up, running for one of the alters. "Of course! The first day of winter! You are on your way home after spending summer with our lady Demeter."

She returned with a carefully painted plate depicting the god and goddess, again uncomfortably similar to them, walking through a field of wheat.

"Uh… sure. Yes. On our way home, just had to uh… pick her up from the in-laws. Did you say there was a bathhouse?"

* * *

Lydia felt terrible. She huddled close to Betelgeuse's side as the priestesses led them toward the back of the temple, speaking in a low tone that only he would be able to hear.

"This is _wrong_ , Beej."

He seemed pleased enough to take advantage of the opportunity.

"These people _died_ for this. We should stop right now and tell them the truth. Or… or just go home."

Before they could discuss the matter at length, Calliope and another whose name she didn't know gently took her hand, separating her from her husband.

"Let us tend to thee, Lady."

They were entering a cavernous room, marble pillars flanking the perimeter and colorful tapestries hanging from the walls. Below the steaming pool of water that took up most of the floor was yet another depiction that so painfully resembled she and her husband, a mosaic portrait that captured them both eerily.

While Lydia was busy gaping at the beauty of it all, one of the maidens pulled a thread on her gown boldly, causing the top to fall, revealing her breasts to the open air. Lydia gasped, covering herself with both arms. The handmaidens immediately retreated, eyes wide with fear, flickering toward the Lord to see if he would be angry too.

"I am so… so sorry, milady! I did not mean to offend thee! Please… Please show mercy." Poor Calliope was near tears. Lydia softened. _Fuck_. When in Rome, right?

"It's okay!" She dropped her arms, forcing herself to go lax so the women could continue undressing her, though she was weary of her ravaged wrists. "I was just startled. No apologies necessary. As you were."

* * *

He pressed a kiss to her temple as she protested, rubbing her back gently. "And we're fulfilling their life's purpose. If we didn't come to visit, they'd waste away here forever, waiting for people who wouldn't come."

When they were separated and the girls started to undress them he couldn't help but chuckle. He turned to look at her when she gasped, happy to see that she was playing along.

The girls were beautiful, but none of them measured up to his girl. The handmaiden that stripped him seemed offended at the size of him, confused almost.

"I know. All the big warriors have tiny little cocks, but I'm part titan, remember?" The girls seemed to accept this and turned their full attention back to their goddess.

* * *

As they maidens helped her step into the steaming pool— Lydia didn't need their help, but hadn't the heart to deny them. They were so _eager—_ one of the girls gasped in horror, holding up her wrist for inspection.

"My Lady! You were wounded! Who dared hurt thee? I trust our Lord condemned them to the deepest, darkest pit of Tartarus."

Lydia lost her voice.

"I… they were…"

Calliope came to her rescue, ever the dutiful servant.

"Foolish, Daphne. Can't you see? These are _battle scars_. Do not trouble our Lady to speak of such harsh, ugly things when she is trying to relax."

"You are right," Daphne bowed her head, ashamed. "I am sorry, milady. I am a fool."

"Nobody apologize to me anymore." Lydia requested, keeping her tone gentle for their sake as she settled on the lowest step she could that still kept her head above water. "You're all perfect and lovely and you haven't done anything wrong."

* * *

The girls were delighted with the praise and poured sweet-scented oils into the bath before bowing deeply and leaving the room.

Betelgeuse leaned back in the hot water and sighed happily, pulling Lydia over to sit on his knee, not unlike the statue in the main hall.

"Well… this has certainly been eventful. These people are going to talk about this for centuries. I think you made Adonais a man." He winked and nuzzled into her, rubbing her soft thigh gently.

"For the record, I like your battle scars. Especially since they show that yer still alive and well."

* * *

"Really?"

Self-consciously, she rubbed over the mottled flesh, relaxing closer against him, almost hiding from him by using his larger body as a sort of cubby. They'd always been something for her to be ashamed of, hideaway and never speak about.

"I always thought they were ugly… battle scars…" She smiled while testing the phrase out on her tongue. "I like that. Much better than 'attention-seeker stripes.' Delia thinks she's funny. She's not."

Only just then did Lydia realize that she and her husband were completely naked in each other's presence for the first time. This was more of him than she had ever seen before. The handmaidens were away for the time being, right? They wouldn't come back unless called upon. That meant…

"Beej…?" She questioned shyly, sliding a sneaky hand up his inner thigh slowly under the water. "Can I… uhm…"

What was the least embarrassing way to say "attempt to stuff your monstrous cock down my throat?"

"Do the thing I wanted to do the other night?"

* * *

There were a million things she wanted the other night. He frowned, trying to remember exactly what she'd begged for when she was squirming up against his cock.

The memory of her gasping and arching against him in the throes of her first orgasm made him smirk. What was it she kept saying?

_Please, can I suck your cock?_

Oh yeah.

"Sure, baby… you can try. Here." He pushed himself up to sit at the edge of the tub, spreading his legs for his tiny wife to settle between. "Go slow and take yer time. I don't want you hurtin' yourself."

* * *

Nervous and curious and excited all at once, she bit her lip as he repositioned them, placing her on her knees before him in a stance of worship. **Amen**. His cock was soft and limp, smaller than last she'd seen, but still huge, enough to put some of the nude statues they'd seen on the walk up here to shame.

Unafraid, she took the shaft in both hands and stroked lightly, exploring. _Oh_. It wasn't actually completely soft. Just the outer parts. Beneath that, she could feel something surging in his dead veins, making it harder. Thicker. Completely enamored with it, she brought the tip to her lips and gave it a sweet kiss, squeezing delicately as she did so.

"It's so pretty…"

With the way he was stiffening under her slick palms, she knew she should take advantage of the opportunity now before he got even bigger. Boldly, she wrapped her mouth around the still somewhat soft tip, savoring how silky smooth it felt on her tongue.

* * *

He chuckled when she settled in, rubbing his hand over her cheek gently. "Well, he thinks you're real pretty too."

He groaned as she started to stroke him, her tiny hand barely fitting around him. She seemed curious and excited. Good things to be when giving your first blowjob.

He groaned as her lips wrapped around him, her tongue exploring the head of his cock like it was some sweet treat she was tasting for the first time. "Fuck… that feels real nice, babes. Remember… take it nice and slow."

* * *

As she tongued him gently, running her hands all along the shaft as she did so, she could feel the bulbous head beginning to inflate and harden in her mouth. It didn't feel so soft and easy to hurt anymore, giving her the confidence to begin suckling. The shaft was expanding as well, becoming more firm to her strokes. Eventually, it became too thick to wrap her fingers around anymore.

Her jaw was forced to stretch wide to provide enough space for him in the soft heat of her mouth, but it was definitely a lot. A tad overwhelmed, she popped her lips off of him to take a breath, encouraged by his advice to take it slow and easy. It was discouraging to her that she was having so much difficulty so soon, but she soldiered on, determined to keep making him feel good.

Almost in apology for releasing him, she peppered soft lingering kisses up and down the shaft, memorizing the ridges, which veins were where, how it seemed impossibly thick at the base near his swollen balls, which she kissed as well, all the while running gentle fingers over the parts her mouth wasn't servicing.

"Is this okay?" She wondered, administering little licks now inbetween her kisses. "It's so big…"

* * *

"Yer doin' perfect, baby… just perfect. Shit, that's good…"

She was far from being able to actually suck his cock, but he had anticipated that. She was inexperienced, unpracticed and so damn small.

Her tiny hands working over him in combination with her tentative kisses made him harder than a rock in record time.

As she peppered his shaft and balls with kisses, he carefully undid the multiple braids and twists the children had woven into her hair. He tangled his hands in it, careful of her injuries.

"That's good, baby lick it… like a popsicle." Though popsicles didn't tend to bounce excitedly in response to stimulus.

* * *

The way his enormous hands cradled her head, gently showing her where he wanted her to go next was a relief. She was still lathing little kisses and licks over his balls, taking turns with each one, when he directed her to "lick it." Eager to please, she laid her tongue flat and soft against his sack, maintaining eye contact to assess his happiness as she dragged it slowly up, up, up, all the way to the bulging head where there was a thick dab of pre waiting for her.

After swirling her tongue over him to lap it up, she tried once more to suck him down, opening her mouth as wide as it could go to provide entry. It couldn't fit anymore, at least, not from this angle. Still, she did her best, suckling furiously at the hunk she was able to fit, almost like she wanted to leave a hickey there. Growing bolder, she squeezed harder, having to use both hands to encircle him completely and provide what she thought might be a pleasurable pressure.

Her cheek muscles fluctuated, working her soft lower lip over the thick vein on the underside of his head. He seemed to like that. Dribbles of saliva leaked down from where she was trying her damnedest to bring him back into her mouth, providing a better lubricant for her hands than the water. Still squeezing tight, she stroked them up from the base very slowly, then back down; over and over again, gauging his reactions with wide eyes focused up on his face.

She felt so safe and protected, so loved with his giant hands tangled in her half-wet hair, keeping her close to where she wanted to be. The expressions he made were beautiful. He was beautiful. For the moment, she was so smitten, she could see quite clearly how so many people had mistaken him for a God.

* * *

She really was a goddess. There was no other explanation for how beautiful she looked sucking eagerly at the small amount of cock she managed to fit in her mouth.

Her hands sliding over him eagerly, and her big brown eyes fixed on him meant that he approached his edge much faster than he'd anticipated.

All too often, women looked at him and balked, insisting that it was too big for anything more than dry humping. But here was his Lydia, once again surprising him with how eager and excited she was to play with him.

"Fuck… babes, I ain't gonna last long. Ya feel too good."

* * *

"That's… okay…"

She assured him between sucks and licks, hesitant to stop servicing him in any way for something as trivial as conversation. He seemed disappointed in himself for not lasting longer, but this was good, right? It meant she was making him happy and doing a good job.

"I want… to taste you…"

Her grip was tight and confident now, slick fists flying up and down his girth swiftly while she worked over his clearly sensitive head.

"You taste… so good… let me drink you…"

* * *

He cursed as she pulled him right to the edge with the combination of her touches and her words. She was surprisingly good at this for this being her first experience.

He cursed, pushing her back with a hand on her shoulder as he fell over into his orgasm, his release splashing onto her chin and neck obscenely.

"Fuck! Lyds… god damn…."

* * *

She gasped in surprise when he jerked her back so suddenly. Lydia had seen porn before. She knew what was coming and had been looking forward to drinking down his cum straight from the tap, but he had other plans. Even as he pushed her back, she strained forward against his heavy hand, keeping her mouth open to catch the stream.

God. There was _so much_ of it. No wonder he pushed her back. She never would have been able to swallow it all in one gulp. In the aftermath, he fell back on his elbows while she stood in the deep pool, trailing her fingers through the pearly white spend that was left dripping down her chest, almost playing with it. It was cool in direct contrast to the steaming water, and sweet on her tongue.

"Thank you," she waded forward, kissing his still hard, twitching length in gratitude for letting her play with it. "That was _fun…_ you're still hard."

Was there more? Concerned she hadn't finished the job, she took him in her hands again and began licking the trails of sweet cum still left dripping from the head.

"Just let me… I can do it better, I promise…"

* * *

"Rigor Mortis. Takes me a while to go down. You did… perfect." He pulled her up gently to kiss her as he slid back into the water.

"Your turn. Get up here."

He grabbed her by the ass and lifted, bringing her tiny pussy right to his mouth as though she weight nothing at all. She might as well not with how much smaller she was than him.

He mouthed over her gently, sliding his tongue between her lips gently. He didn't want to hurt her by going at her too fast, but he found that once he got a taste of her, he was insatiable.

He moaned softly, sucking at her clit before pulling away to check on her. "God damn, you taste so good…."

* * *

When he lifted her up against him to kiss, then clear out of the water above his mouth, she yelped in surprise, flailing just a little bit. She found her equilibrium in tightening her thighs around his cheeks, threading her hands into his hair. He was cold. The air was cold, compared to the delectable heat of the pool, anyway. Gooseflesh quickly rose along her arms and legs, the peaks of her breasts tightening painfully.

The chill was a temporary problem. He set into work on her and she forgot all about it. His mouth was unlike anything she had ever felt before, his tongue inhumanly long and thick as it slid all along her slit from start to end, pressure steadily increasing in intensity the longer he feasted on her. He suckled gently at her clit then, plush lips rounded to an "O", the suction wetly massaging the entire upper portion of the crux of her thighs.

Her grip on his hair wavered. Arching in his hands, a high-pitched whine split through the air. Creamy thighs trembled around his large head while she gasped above him, fingers gentling in his hair to a sweet combing pet.

"Oh Beej! It's so good! Please! It's so much!"

* * *

He groaned softly, rocking her down against his face to devour her more hungrily. "Mmm…." He pulled away from her for just a moment and kissed her inner thigh.

"You can hold out, baby… I've got ya."

He ran his tongue over her once more before letting the slick appendage tease over her tight opening. He worked the tip of his tongue in circles to open her up before pressing his tongue into her an inch or two.

He gripped her ass harder as he really got into the process of making her cum. He was thriving on the knowledge that he was the only man to have ever made her feel like this.

* * *

In record time, Lydia was spasming above him, riding out her peak on his snake-like tongue. The breaking point came when it very gently stretched her open, dipping in to taste places never touched before even by herself. The tip reached a shallow end inside her, stopped by the firm membrane of flesh that marked her virginity.

At the time, his tongue was soft and gentle, the serpentine muscle relaxed rather than flexed. With a sharp motion, he could probably pierce through it right then and there if he wanted to, while she was crying out her release above him, dripping her essence directly into the eager void of his mouth.

Tiny hands curled up tight in his mass of hair as she rolled her hips over his tongue, gazing down at him with a soft, desperate emotion.

"Beej… I love you…"

* * *

He was surprised to be met with her hymen, but pushed through, letting his tongue rupture the bit of flesh while she was too overwhelmed with pleasure for it to hurt too much.

He drew back slightly as she rocked into his face, spouting sweet words as she stared down at him with those wide honeyed eyes.

He pulled back and kissed her stomach gently. "I love you too, doll… you're bein real good for me. How was that? Huh? Ya like my tongue?" He wiggled the mentioned appendage in her direction playfully.

* * *

She might have felt a slight twinge in the throes of her orgasm when he jutted through her maidenhood, but then his tongue was wriggling deeper inside of her, soothing the sting, and she was too raptured to be aware anything was amiss.

Her arms and legs curled reflexively around his head when he lowered her, hugging him close so that his eyes and nose were buried against her chest and she could press kisses to his forehead.

"Uh-uh," she nodded dumbly to his question, caught up in the dreamy haze of their confessions and the aftershocks of her peak. "It's really long… like a snake…"

* * *

He chuckled and nuzzled into her gently. "Good." He lowered her down onto his lap, bending to keep his face nuzzled into her chest.

"Mmm…. guess what. Yer not a virgin anymore. Daddy took care of it so it wouldn't hurt." He pressed his ear to her chest, hearing her heart pounding in her chest. It was comforting.

"You're so good for me, babes." He nuzzled her gently and sighed happily. "Damn…" Just then he heard giggling from the other side of the room. The handmaidens started to filter out of the shadows.

Calliope cleared her throat. "Are you ready to get out now, Lady?"

* * *

Had the girls been staring this whole time? Lydia flushed dark. She couldn't really blame them. They were probably all virgins themselves. Some innocent curiosity couldn't be helped. And what did he mean she wasn't a virgin anymore? Puzzled, but unwilling to question it in front of the maidens, she accepted their help as they came forward with lush purple towels and a new dress for her.

"Lady," gasped Daphne, knelt at her feet to dry her legs one at a time, "… you bleed?" There, in fact, was a dab of red leaking from her, standing out starkly on her lily-white thigh. "But… all the stories say… his Lord _took_ you…"

The curious handmaiden whispered low, frightful of divine retribution, but holding utmost faith in the kindness of her Lady.

"Uhhh…." Lydia foundered, searching for any reason Hades might have for leaving his stolen spring lamb a virgin for an eon. "We've been… taking our time."

* * *

"This year." He supplied. "Our Lady was once an eternal Virgin, you'll remember. When she goes home to her mother, she regains her… virginity…"

He cleared his throat as some of the other girls brought back his toga. They seemed to accept this explanation, one of the girls brushing Lydia's hair back off of her neck.

"That must be awful… to have to take our Lord over and over again as though it were new."

Betelgeuse chuckled and swooped down to kiss her cheek. "Oh, she manages, don't you Persie…?"

* * *

Oh, Betelgeuse was having entirely too much fun with this.

"It's the most beautiful agony," she sighed dramatically when he ducked a kiss to her burning cheek, eyes alight with affection. "But I wouldn't trade it for anything. I would stay with him all the seasons if I could. Then of course… _everything_ would die."

In line with what her husband decreed about her perpetual purity, the maidens brought a muslin sheath of the purest white, so thin and translucent that the shade of pink that blushed her nipples was clearly visible through the sheer sheet. They tied it around her quickly and efficiently, weaving the delicate fabric in intricate patterns in a way that made it look easy and uncomplicated as it fell over her warm, smooth flesh, softened from the bath oils.

"Are you tired, Lady? Hungry? We have a sleeping chamber kept only for you both, as well as a bounty of fresh fruit from the Harvest. Our wine is famous from here to the River Styx. Please, let us serve you."

The immodesty of the gown made her bashful and hesitant to leave, and she would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the five-star treatment. After a lifetime of hatred and rejection from the general breathing populace, she was ready to let the dead adore her.

"Wine sounds lovely. You don't happen to have cherries, do you?"

Judging by her nonchalant inflection and countenance, she didn't catch the lewd significance of her request.

* * *

He snorted at the request for cherries, pulling her into his side as he was done being dressed. "Wine does sound good. Lead on."

Calliope grinned and led them into what Betelgeuse would describe as a salon. Low couches and plush blankets and pillows were everywhere, interspersed with small tables and statues of nymphs holding bottles of wine.

He flopped down into a pile of cushions and pulled Lydia with him. "Red for me. If you have something sweet, that's what she wants."

* * *

"Imagine if we could stay here forever…"

Lydia hypothesized dreamily, splayed across his lap carelessly as though she were due for a spanking and plucking from a crystal bowl of sweet dark cherries that were supplied just as quickly as she requested them, each perfectly plump with nary an imperfection. The wine tasted like the cherries too, and Daphne told her it was made from the same stock of fruit.

Alas, the real Percy probably missed her. Calliope overheard her thoughtless murmur and got overly excited, forcing Lydia to politely dismiss them— _but please leave the wine, thank you._

"When you deliver, you _deliver_ , Beej. Some first date, huh?"

* * *

He chuckled. "I don't do things by halves. I dunno how I'm gonna top this, though." He sipped at his wine and ran his hand delicately over her back and down to squeeze her ass.

"This has been fun. I hope that kid and his mother get something good with the rocks. I can't imagine having two kids under ten for eternity."

He changed direction, playing with her hair gently. "How's your head? You doin' okay?" He bent to kiss the back of her head, nuzzling into her sweet-smelling hair.

* * *

"I'm kinda sleepy… and I have a tiny, itty bitty headache… but nothing this wine can't fix. Try it, it's so good."

With that, she pushed herself up to straddling his thigh and lifted a jewel-encrusted goblet to his mouth, insisting upon his sampling. In return she tried his cup, grimacing at the dry, bitter taste.

"On second thought, you stick with yours and I'll stick with mine. But you should definitely still try the cherries."

These were handfed to him as well, Lydia taking any opportunity she could to touch and love on him. Who knew when all this perfection would end? Best to savor it.


	7. Chapter 7

He loved this impromptu hideaway with his new bride. Something about it felt familiar at the same time that it was entirely new. He ate the offered cherries one at a time, his large hand settled on her ass.

After a while the priest from Hades' side of the temple appeared with what appeared to be acolytes, all in dark robes and wearing thick silver chains around their waists.

"Sire, we have come to present a gift. From your acolytes to you, our Lord…" One of the boys pulled open his robe, revealing a small black owl perched on his arm. He looked not unlike the owls that were depicted around the temple.

The bird turned on his arm as though considering the room and hopped down to walk, rather than fly to the couple. The really strange bit came when it cleared its throat and spoke. "I am Archimedes, the All-knowing Owl. I am at your service for any piece of knowledge you lack."

* * *

_Neat_. Lydia considered the little bird curiously before putting it to the test.

"Archimedes, what's ten million to the ten-millionth power?"

As if setting off a nerdy bomb, it began spouting zeros and ones interspersed with math terminology Lydia probably would have understood if she paid any attention in math class. Only once the devotees filtered out to leave them alone again did she dip into more serious questions.

"Archimedes…? Why are all the dead people so nice to me?"

"You are our Lady, our Queen," Archimedes hooted proudly in return, as though she had asked quite a silly question. "Anything else would be treasonous. It helps that you are an _absolute delight_ , milady."

Pouting at the unhelpful bit of information, she tried again.

"Okay, so then how come living people don't like me?"

"You are not meant for them. Mortals have always been such an ungrateful bunch…"

* * *

"Whatdya know… and why'd they give you to us?"

Archimedes considered him a moment as though looking at someone incredibly stupid. "I have answered this question already. Lydia is our lady of the Dead. You are her husband, the Lord. It is laid out quite plainly."

He hopped his way over to a tapestry and climbed it with his beak and talons. "Behold. Our lord Hades, and me. Archimedes the all-knowing."

Sure enough, it was another depiction of the god of the dead, this time facing his wife in their thrones, a small blackbird perched on his arm.

"Huh… and… what? You think we're them?"

Archimedes ruffled his feathers. "I do not think. I am all-knowing, not all thinking."

"How come you can't fly?"

The bird seemed to deflate. "You noticed. More observant than I gave you credit for." The bird spread his wings to reveal that several flight feathers were missing, leaving gaping holes in the edges.

"Like I said. Mortals are quite ungrateful."

* * *

"You poor thing!" Lydia immediately gathered the feathered miniature owl into her arms to love on him properly, smoothing her fingers over his feathers as if she could mend the damage done. Expecting a reaction like this at the revelation of his injuries, Archimedes preened under her attention.

"You always do this, you know. You make us wait centuries upon centuries for your return only to have forgotten all about us once you arrive."

There was an almost imperceptible whine in his voice, as though his feelings were hurt.

"Centuries…" Lydia breathed out with a disbelieving laugh. "I'm only sixteen, little bird."

"You always are, every time you come," the bird returned with unshakable faith, infallible logic. "And we are so glad you're back. He's always so dreadful to us waiting here without you… No offense, milord."

* * *

This didn't make sense. "Listen, I've never been here in my entire life. Before or after the big one. I don't know what the hell you're saying."

Archimedes huffed and turned his back to him. "You always do this. You see how he is, my lady?"

Betelgeuse huffed and patted his thigh. "Baby, come lay back down. I'm sure you can snuggle Archibald from here."

" _It's Archimedes!"_

* * *

"I know, he's a big giant jerkface," Lydia baby talked the owl as though he was her Percy, but returned to the big giant jerkface's lap upon his request.

"Was she very cruel to you this time, milady? Sometimes she is more vicious than others."

"Who…? What are you talking about?"

"The Lady Demeter. So high and mighty that one, demanding to keep you from your rightful place only to throw you away once she tires of you. I will never understand you Gods and your goings-on in the mortal realm."

Lydia's face fell.

"She didn't throw me away… and she's not this 'Lady Demeter' person either! And I'm not Persephone!"

Archimedes ruffled his feathers, cooing gently.

"Deepest apologies, milady. Archimedes did not mean to upset you. You are injured. I am out of line. Forgive me?"

* * *

Betel pulled her closer as she started to get upset, pressing his face into her hair and nuzzling gently, hoping to soothe her.

This bird was freaky, but Lydia seemed to like him, so he supposed it was just one more mouth to feed. Lucky him.

He sighed and shook his head. "We don't talk about her mom, Archie. We try to avoid it. We're gonna go see her next week, right kitten? See if we can get some clarification on some things."

He didn't know how that was going to go. And he hated not knowing. Even so, he was fully prepared to celebrate or comfort, whichever his wife ended up needing.

"So… if we're them… do we get to come back here whenever we want?"

* * *

"Please do! We have missed you so very much! Eternity is so empty without the King and Queen. It's just been that pseudo-Prince on the throne for an age or so now. I very much look forward to your disposal of the seat warmer, milord."

Who was he even talking about? For an all-knowing bird, all he seemed to be doing was raising questions for Lydia and her husband. The little owl seemed disturbed that they wished to visit "Demeter", even more so when Betelgeuse claimed to need "clarification."

"There is nothing she can tell you that I cannot! Go ahead! Ask away!"

Lydia rubbed her temples, headache throbbing full force. The wine was not actually helping, as it turned out.

"I'm confused. Can you let us alone for now, Archimedes?"

* * *

"Of course, anything milady desires."

Betel held his wife close as the little owl hopped out of the room. "Hey… Ignore him. He's just trying to help, I'm sure."

He rubbed her back gently, kissing her cheek firmly. "Do you wanna go home? See the fuzzball? Maybe we can go to dinner or something on our way."

The pleasant mood of their date was slowly inching away, and he was eager to regain it. All he wanted was for Lydia to be as happy as she possibly could be. "Whatever you wanna do, baby girl."

* * *

Lydia didn't want to leave just yet. Ignoring the confusing mass delusion all these people appeared to be suffering from, it was still pretty cozy around these parts. Everything she wanted was but a snap away, not that this was a change from Betelgeuse's usual spoiling, but it was nice to see someone treating him for once.

Still, he raised an excellent point. Percy needed looking after.

"I don't want to go," she pouted just so, tugging slightly at her see-through sheet of a lounging gown the handmaidens had draped over her. She would have to change clothes in order to return to reality, and three times in one day was plenty for Lydia.

"Can you bring Percy here? Poor baby, he's not used to being alone."

* * *

He chuckled at the request and snapped his fingers. A very frazzled Percy dropped onto a cushion nearby, meowing with confusion.

The handmaiden who was keeping an eye on their needs gasped and cooed at the cat, coming to let him before fetching him water and freshly cut meat.

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes. "Even the cat's spoiled here. I guess we could get used to this, huh baby?"

* * *

"I'm just so comfortable," she sighed, rolling out on his lap so that she was cradled cozily between his thighs, and took a long sip from the easy to drink wine. It was like fruit juice, but better. "I don't want to change clothes again. Or walk anywhere, or meet new people. This is enough for today."

Betelgeuse was always ready to go, go, go, whereas Lydia was more of a homebody, happy to nestle and rest in one place. Currently, that place was in his lap in a pile of pillows with nice dead girls who worshipped them seeing to their every need.

"My headache is coming back, though. Could you puff a joint or something, pretty please?"

* * *

He was all too happy to stay still it meant the easy, relaxed smile on his wife's face would stay where it was. He bent to kiss her, licking the sweet wine off of her lips playfully.

"Your wish is my command, dearest."

The requested herb was summoned and he took a deep inhale before passing it off, letting it ruminate in his decayed lungs before letting it curl out of his lips.

"Hope Percy doesn't eat Archie." The fear was unfounded as the feline seemed more than content to eat the treats the girls were showering him with.

* * *

With a heavy dose of THC numbing her headache until it voided out, three goblets of wine deep, Lydia was feeling _good_. Archimedes and the other maidens had filtered out for the evening, several just outside the room in case they needed anything, but out of the way to allow their Lord and Lady to canoodle in peace.

What passed as night had fallen over the Neitherworld, and the skylights in the lounge allowed moonbeams from all three lunar spheres to seep in and illuminate the space, aided by torches of blue fire that sprung to life along the walls once daylight began to fade.

"Betelgeuse…?"

Lydia queried in a moment of hush, laid out across him as she had been all evening. The sheet had loosened with her twisting and fidgeting about, leaving part of her upper half exposed as it lay half-heartedly across her pale chest.

"You didn't just say you love me… because I said it and you felt like you had to… right?"

She gave him a beat to reply before cutting back in, breaking off to a self-conscious ramble.

"It's okay if you don't. I mean, that would suck… but I understand…"

* * *

He frowned, considering her question. "I didn't just say it cause you did. I do love you. It's just…"

He sighed and shook his head. How did he explain without making her doubt him?

"Love is… is very new to me. I'm not sure I've ever been in love before. And if I have, I certainly ain't loved nobody like I love you. You… shifted my whole worldview. It takes adjustin'."

He rubbed his thumb over the top of one pale, exposed breast gently. "But I know I love you. Regardless of if I've loved other people."

* * *

"I love you… I love Mother… I love Percy… I guess I still love Father a tiny bit, even though he's a jackass, so he goes on the list too… and that's everyone I love. In that order."

Was it reckless of her to put him first on her list? True, they'd been married many months now, but wasn't this their first date? Time was a petty and arbitrary mortal construct, Lydia decided at that moment, sprawled drunk and nearly naked across her husband's whom she loved thigh. As his meaty, calloused thumb pet over her nipple, her breaths drew infinitesimally shorter, her own tiny hand coming to gently grasp his pinky.

"I don't want to wait any longer to sleep with my husband. I'm ready now. You don't have to wait for my stupid head to get better. It's fine…"

* * *

"That's awfully sweet, kitten. I love you. And that's about it." He bent to kiss her softly, humming as she pouted and begged him for the next step, yet again.

"Sweetheart, you could barely get the head in yer mouth, you really wanna try takin it inside already? And we have slept together. I just ain't fucked ya yet. Let's play a while longer first. Let daddy open ya up and get ready for me…"

He smirked, rubbing his free hand over her thigh, his fingers wrapping around it gently. "Besides, I'm havin' a good time cuddling. Aren't you?"

* * *

"We haven't slept together…"

He was just being a smartass and talking about cuddling. Unless… was he really that naïve? He told her once that he experienced E.D. with some lady friends, but could that have been her husband trying to tell her something else?

"Beej…?" She questioned, looking up quite curiously from beside him as he shadowed over her, blocking out moonbeams while long fingers quested up and around her thigh. The things he said were filthy… _but was it a cover?_

"Are you a virgin?"

* * *

He couldn't help but laugh, hauling her up to sit on his thigh. "A virgin? Hell no! What the hell are you even thinkin'?"

He bit at her lips firmly. "Sex doesn't always have to involve penetration, baby… sometimes the best time comes from the simple stuff. Like… watchin' a girl fall apart from nothin' but your fingers."

As though offering just such pleasure, he slid his hands up her thighs, taking the gauzy dress with them. "Lemme show ya."

One meaty finger ran over her, pushing and rubbing at her until slick started to gather on the tip of it. "Yeah… get nice and wet for me…"

* * *

Her vision spun a little bit and she fell into giggles when he pulled her up so abruptly. By now, she was used to him moving her about as he liked. The wine and smoke just made it more fun. Clearly he was somewhat insulted by her line of questioning. When he came pushing gauze out of the way, fiddling with the sensitive area between her thighs, she arched forward, grabbing onto his thick wrist with both hands for purchase.

"Oh," she whimpered, slowly pressing her hips back and forth for him in the rhythm he'd silently taught her he liked. However, she soon grew impatient and jutted her hips forward as if to take him inside of her, only to wince at the strain. This wasn't going to be as simple as she thought.

"I just thought… you're so _big…_ maybe nobody had ever…"

* * *

He chuckled softly and shrugged. "Oh, there have only been a few who could actually take me…. and many more who tried. I just don't want ya to get hurt and then yer scared off tryin' again… it's a whole mess."

He sighed, his finger pushing against her entrance firmly as she tried to take it in, his eyes on her face to watch her reactions. "See? And that's just my finger…"

He changed the angle slightly and pressed the finger back into her, rocking it slowly to make her adjust. "Mmm… so fuckin' tight…"

* * *

An urge to squeeze her thighs around his invading hand was tamped, and she instead turned her cheek against his gut, gritting her teeth as he gently eased his long, thick finger deeper inside of her. Slowly, he worked her open, until he had her sunk down on him to the second knuckle. It didn't quite hurt, but it was foreign and uncomfortable and Lydia wasn't quite sure what to do with herself.

All her begging and pleading for him to just fuck her properly already seemed so silly now. Ignorant. _Virginal_. He would rip her open if he tried. Now, she was thinking things more along the lines of whether or not this was even possible. No matter what, Lydia was determined to see this through. She would sleep with her husband, which meant she needed to go ahead and get used to his finger fast.

Taking deep breaths, she forced herself to relax against him, the hand that was gently fucking her cradling her to him by her chest. The easing of her muscles seemed to allow him deeper, but not by much.

"I'm sorry… I just want to be with you… Keep you satisfied… that's my job…"

* * *

"And you do a great job, baby… god, you're tight. That feel okay, kitten?" She was stiff against him, clearly uncomfortable.

He rocked the finger into her slowly, determined to make sure she was enjoying herself. He kissed her head gently, curling his finger inside of her to seek out the spot he was sure would make her see stars.

He was glad he'd taken the earlier opportunity to puncture her hymen. This kind of penetration would have been torture mere hours ago. "God, Damn… so good for me…."

* * *

"Oh… oh! Yeah," she panted as his digit curled and massaged something sensitive hidden deep within her. In an effort to give him more space, thinking it might help, she took advantage of her flexibility, hitching her knee up to plant her foot flat on his thigh.

"Fuck… feels good…"

The change didn't help loosen her up at all, but it did force her muscles to cling around him differently while her insides contracted. He was awfully chatty during these sessions. Lydia loved it. The dirty things he said made her burn up inside, as well as worked to banish any nervousness or jitters.

Something was rising up and poking her; his cock, excited by all the fun. Lydia was unable to do more in this position than grasp at it with one arm, pull it up against her side so it was flush with warm flesh. The sheer excuse for clothing had fallen away completely now, laying forgotten over his thigh as he rutted up into her, harder now, hitting just a bit deeper with every stroke.

"Ah!" She cried out on each lunge, digging her fingernails into his thigh as she approached the precipice. "Beej! Fuck! Please, oh please, oh— so big! Gonna make me—!"

* * *

"Yeah, baby that's it… yer so fuckin good…"

Her new angle provided him with a clear view of his thick digit working inside of her, her muscles stretched taught around its girth.

He wasn't sure how he was ever going to get his cock into that tiny opening, but if that's what she wanted, he'd find a way. He rubbed his thumb over her clit firmly, driving her toward orgasm.

"Come on, my good girl… you can do it. Cum for me…. now…"

* * *

While he was actually being quite gentle in truth, the motions were ruthless to his tiny wife. The sudden pressure on her clit paired with his finger pounding hard at the limitations of her inner parts, wearing them down, threw her over the edge. Every muscle bunched up and tensed again. She threw her head back in rapture, clinging tight to him to provide purchase for her hips to bounce back against his hand and encourage the intense rhythm.

It was so much, but she could take it. She had to.

* * *

She twisted and shuddered with her orgasm, still encouraging his thrusts as she clung to him, and Betelgeuse found himself entirely enraptured.

The way she gave in to the pleasure totally without any of the falsified moaning and praise he was used to was hypnotic. She was nearly silent, though he could hear her heart pounding in her chest.

"That's it, kitten… You're so perfect, Damn." How had he spent months missing out on this? How many times had he jerked off when he could have been rubbing up on his hot little wife? Shameful.

* * *

She came down panting, glowing under his continued growled praise, and still impaled on his index finger, closer to the last knuckle now. His length was harder than ever, jutting up beside her and smearing cold pre against her ribs.

"You're perfect," she argued cutely, turning awkwardly with him still inside of her to hunch down to lick at his cock, cleaning the head of its secretions. "Let me take care of you…"

* * *

"Come here, baby."

As much as he loved her playful, exploratory blowjob, he was desperate for release. He knew it could be overwhelming for her, so he pulled her closer onto his lap, sliding his cock along her core firmly.

"You just grind up on daddy and I'll blow any minute. You're too sexy to me to even process, baby girl… "

* * *

Lydia would have liked to try her hand at blowing him again, "do better" like she promised she could, but with his finger anchored deep inside her, the rest of his hand controlled her easily, making her feel a bit like a sock puppet as he pulled her up close against him. He knew what he was doing. This was just fine, better even than whatever she was planning.

Eager to follow his direction, she hugged him close around his middle, cheek pressed to his hairy chest and legs spread obscenely wide to accommodate his lap. Then, she moved, undulating her hips to drag her belly and the soaking wet crux of her thighs over him again and again, stimulating him as best she could while simultaneously riding his finger like she would like to one day do to his cock.

"Is this good enough?" She panted, pressing closer to provide a warm, soft pressure on the cock pocketed between them. "I can do more…"

* * *

He grunted and huffed as he rocked up into her hold eagerly. "This is perfect… it's perfect baby…"

He held her tight, beginning the slow thrusts of his finger again. With her cradled close to him like this, he was acutely aware of just how small she really was.

Her head was cradled on his chest, but her little feet only came to his knees. Seeing his cock nestled up against her torso was shocking. There really was no way she was going to take that into her…

"I'm close already, baby. You're doing so well for daddy…"

* * *

Determined to bring him what pleasure she could with what she had to work with, she writhed against him madly, throwing her entire body into his pleasure.

"I'm good," she huffed, riding his hand and pepping kisses across his chest. "Try two fingers. I can do it. Please?"

Obviously, they wouldn't be getting any closer to consummating their marriage unless she pushed him. Just because she was vertically challenged didn't mean she was made of glass, damnit!

* * *

He huffed as she pleaded for more. He bent to kiss her forehead, nuzzling into her gently. "Babes, I just got one in here… there's no rush."

He appreciated how eager she was to have more of him, but he wasn't about to cause her pain if it could be avoided. "Listen, baby… if we go too fast we won't be able to keep it up. Yer gonna be sore as is…"

He pulled her in tighter with his free hand spread over her back. "I want it too, baby, I do but look… just look atcha… I don't wanna hurt ya, baby girl."

* * *

A tiny distressed sound akin to a whine but more tortured crawled up her throat at his rejection. Oh well. It was worth a shot.

"Fine then," she pouted, agreeing begrudgingly to his terms even as she arched against him, rubbing herself against his ever-hardening cock maddeningly.

"But you have to fuck me like this every day. Or use the toy you got me for our honeymoon, I don't care, I just…"

Maybe she was just scarred from her parents' abuse of each other, but it was imperative to Lydia that she kept her husband satisfied and unwilling to stray. Some other woman could take him, apparently, and that wasn't right or fair at all as far as she was concerned. If anyone would be fucking him, it would be _her_.

"It doesn't matter. Just fuck me," she mewled, trying to bring it back to fun and sex. "Let go. I'm okay, see?"

* * *

Well, that certainly seemed to have touched a nerve. He thrust into her harder, leaning down to nip at her lips firmly.

"You got it. Every day." He grinned and rocked up against her, eager to find his own release. "You'll be takin' my cock in no time."

It didn't take long for him to approach his end, grunting as his precum spread over her soft stomach with each thrust, leaving a glistening trail on her stomach. "I'm so close… you're doin' so perfect, kitten…"

* * *

Fully abandoning her dogged pursuit of rushing their intimacy along, Lydia allowed herself to properly enjoy the now. He felt good too, and that's all she really cared about. Her pleasure was high on his list of priorities, therefore his would be in a place of honor on hers as well. What was she in such a rush for anyway?

He loved her. He said so. He wasn't going anywhere.

"God," she let out with an elongated moan, going limp to his handling as he started really rutting against her, practically bouncing her off of his hand as he used that reign to slam against her in a pantomime of rough fucking.

"I'll be good, Daddy… want it so bad… gonna make me… _again…_ "

* * *

"Yeah, that's it baby… I got you. Come on…"

Just then, there was a crack of thunder and Betel quickly went on the defense. His digit was pulled free of her body and the flowing fabric that had made up his clothing was wrapped tight around her like blanket, or a shield.

And there stood Juno. The woman stared at them, seemingly unamused. "Betelgeuse."

Betel pulled Lydia a little closer. "Ma. What the hell do you want?"

Juno sneered. "For the last time, I am not your mother. I'm here to give you the results of your request for an annulment."

* * *

Lydia was disoriented. One moment, she was letting herself become a toy to her husband's excellent handling, on the verge of what was sure to be an explosive orgasm. The next thing she knew, she was painfully empty, bundled up like a baby in his dark robe, and blind to the rest of the world. There was a new voice in the room, female and older.

"Beej…? What… what's going on?"

Confused and frustrated, she squirmed and pushed until her head at the very least was free and she could look around. There was an elderly woman in the room with them, wearing a dated business suit, a deep gash in her throat, and a Virginia slim between her clawed, wrinkled fingers.

_I'm here to give you the results of your request for an annulment._

Her chest panged painfully. _What?_

"What's she talking about?" Her stomach was still wet with sweat and his precum. His cock was still hard against her. This couldn't be happening. Whatever buzz remained from her alcohol was turning from pleasant to sour very quickly. "You're not… But we can't. You said so."

* * *

"I thought so." He held her tighter. "There's been a change of plans, Junebug. You can cancel the request."

Juno huffed and pulled at her cigarette. "You need to leave that girl alone, Betel. I mean, look at you! Does she know you're here sleeping around on her? That poor girl deserves better than you, Betelgeuse. You should give her the chance to find it."

With that she was gone, and so was his arousal. He scowled, still holding his wife close to his chest. "We… should go home…"

* * *

The woman didn't pay her any mind, not even sparing her a second glance as she tore into her husband seemingly about her? Or maybe some other woman. Had he offered this deal to someone else while she wasn't looking? Did he have another wife somewhere? That didn't make any sense and it hurt to think about, but nothing about their arrangement was sensical. The more she thought about it, temples throbbing and vision blurring, the more it seemed a horribly likely possibility.

As soon as he had them all including Percy magicked back to the apartment in Pavia, Lydia squirmed to get her feet back on the floor, pulling the large sheet around her like a blanket while fighting off an impending emotional fit.

"Who was that woman? Who was she talking about?" The question came out more accusatory than Lydia could help, a sick feeling settling in her gut. God, she was so stupid. "Who's the 'poor girl'?"

One of his large hands reached for her and too hurt to think straight, she snapped, recoiling from the touch.

"Don't— don't touch me!"

* * *

"Baby, please! She's talkin' about _you!_ She's never seen ya before… just slow down!"

This whole thing was fucked. Why did Juno have to show up right when he was getting Lydia comfortable with him? Couldn't that have been a note? Did she have to come in person?

"That… was Juno. She used to be my boss, and she's who I see when I need something taken care of at the office."

He rubbed his hand over his face. "I asked her about the divorce when you asked me to. Right after the wedding. She said as long as it's not consummated we can just annul, but I didn't want you to… I didn't think you'd… wanna know."

That sounded stupid. He knew it did. "Baby, there's no other woman for me…. we can drop the marriage if ya really want to, but… I don't wanna go."

* * *

This was all unpleasant news to Lydia. She didn't know anything about the consummation and annulment deal. Since the night of the mugging, the prospect of terminating their marriage had just been… a non-issue. Maybe there wasn't another woman. But then again… he was saying all the things a cheating bastard _would_ say. Having been raised by one, she was painfully aware.

"I don't want you to go either," she confessed tearfully, keeping herself at arm's length despite what she was saying, which was pretty far away considering the length of his arms.

"I'm just— I'm confused. You're not… you're not lying right? Promise me you're not lying."

Could she even trust his word? He hadn't lied to her yet, excepting his withholding of information pertaining to their marriage. Did that count? It felt like it should count.

* * *

"I promise, baby… how can I prove it to ya?"

He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and stay there or kiss her until she believed him, but he couldn't do that…

He sat, feeling heavier than he was on the couch, and put his head in his hands. He couldn't believe this was happening. He was free, he had most of his power, and a wife that adored him.

And now he was about to lose it all.

At least if she wanted nothing to do with him, he'd go back to the attic without hurting her. He shook his head. "I love you. But if ya want the marriage annulled it's up to you. I'll go back to the attic and you'll go on with your life."

* * *

The way he kept saying words like "annulment" and offering to leave, trying to make it seem like it was her idea, only made things worse. Why was he so defeated? At ease with letting her go? He should be fighting for her!

"Why do you keep saying that?" She lashed out, brows furrowed, tears still dripping in a steady stream down her cheeks. "If you want to go, then go! You don't need my permission! You put in the request, right? Sounds to me like it's all up to you."

She could barely see through her tears, her cruel, frazzled mind only filtering out the parts that hurt. He lied. He wanted to leave. He might have another woman out there. Someone who could probably actually fuck him properly.

How could a day go from so blessedly perfect to so fucked up in the span of just a few minutes?

* * *

"You asked me to! You told me when we got married you wanted a divorce! So I went to ask. I thought you wanted nothing to do with me!"

He growled, fighting off tears himself. "Let's not forget that you just wanted the apartment near your mom. That was the deal. You told me you wanted to be here and for me to find a way for us to… to … s-separate."

He hunched into himself, his hulking form almost comical in the way it tried to make itself small. "I don't know what to do… I don't know what you want!"

* * *

_You asked me to! You told me when we got married you wanted a divorce! So I went to ask. I thought you wanted nothing to do with me!_

"Well yeah, cause I didn't want to be married to someone who doesn't _give a shit_ about me!"

Everything was so complicated and convoluted now. The deal seemed awfully simple when it was first struck; freedom for freedom, fair and square. No muss, no fuss. He just _had_ to keep kissing her, didn't he?

"I want you to do what _you_ want to do, Betelgeuse." She was sick of trying to come up with answers for him. She didn't know what she wanted from him at that moment any more than he did. "I'm not the boss of you. You want me? This? Then stop acting like I already signed the divorce papers! Jesus fucking Christ, would you really just go? If I told you to, you'd disappear? No fight, no argument, no trying?"

That's how father let mother leave; silently and without complaint. The comparison only hurt more. Lydia knew for damn sure if the roles were reversed, she'd be fighting tooth and nail to hold onto him, and here he was offering divorce and annulment like those were viable options.

"Fine then," she sobbed, lashing out further idiotically, lost in her rant and tears and anguish. "If it's that easy, then _go_."

* * *

He was losing her.

He shuffled off the couch onto his knees and reached for her again, this time not giving up until he'd pulled her close and pressed his face into her stomach.

"I don't want to go. I want you to be happy. That's all I want, Lyds…"

He held her tight, hiding his sorrow in her soft skin. He was all too aware of her sobbing above him. He had to make this right.

In a flash, he'd picked her up and carried her to bed, holding her cradled into his chest as he settled against the headboard. "If it's up to me, I'm not goin anywhere. You're gonna have to exorcise me to get rid of me."

* * *

She remained stiff and unyielding when he came crawling, confused and afraid; of hurt, of what might one day happen to her if she let him in. He didn't care that she wasn't hugging him back, or that rather than calming her sobs dissolved into an incoherent mess the tighter his arms pulled around her, robbing her of speech.

He wasn't going anywhere.

In spite of the heavy weight that lifted off her chest at the realization, tears continued to fall. She was sad and young and drunk and dabbling with romance and supernatural forces way over her head. It was all… just a bit much.

"I'm… sorry…" She managed to choke out brokenly when her stubborn despair faded enough to allow her to. He took up the majority of her queen-sized bed, but she hadn't any need of the surface area the way he was cradling her, letting her get it all out of her system.

"Just… don't wanna get hurt…"

* * *

He held her and rubbed her back, happy to stay in silence as long as she wanted to. Watching her cry hurt something deep inside of him. The same something that had been terrified to find her alone and bleeding on her porch.

He rocked her gently, eager to get her calmed down so she could rest. He should have watched her on the wine. "Don't be sorry… this ain't your fault. 'S my fault. All of it."

He kissed her cheek firmly, squeezing her. "I don't wanna hurt you… I love you, baby… I love you so much. I shouldn'ta even asked."

* * *

He really shouldn't have, but Lydia was too eager to chase the calm he provided to agree with him aloud, make him feel even worse. Clearly, he was just as upset at her. He was just better at managing his emotions.

"There's no one else…?" She hushed one more time, needing to hear it again. "Just me? And you definitely don't want to… d-d-divorce?" The last word made her choke up again, despite all efforts to remain somewhat calm and composed for him.

She felt so silly, getting so bent out of shape over nothing. Their relationship was young, after all, so seemingly fragile and fickle. She could lose him just as easily as she found him and the world would just keep turning as it always had.

* * *

"No, baby… no one else. Haven't been able to look at another woman since you said you wanted me to stick around."

He held her a little tighter. "I don't want anything from you until ya feel better. And then I wanna take you to see yer mom. That's it. That's what I want right now… and this."

He conjured a joint and took a deep drag before passing it to her. "I think we should call it a day and stay home. I'm sure Archimedes knows we'll be back for him eventually, right?"

* * *

"Oh…" She made a sad little sound, coming out of the fog to remember her new friend in the form of a precious, nerdy little owl. "We didn't say goodbye. Calliope is going to be upset."

But they would go back to play God and Goddess again. Soon. He said so, which meant it had to be true. As always, the weed was top-grade, getting her stoned off her ass and lax in his possessive grasp in no time at all.

"Do you think I'm a coward…?" Residual melancholy kept her energy low in the aftermath of their fight, her mood dour. "For waiting this long to go see her…? _I do_."

* * *

"I don't think you could be a coward if ya tried. I think she hurt you, and you have a right to not see her if ya ain't ready."

He sighed softly and set her down to pull on a pair of boxers. "I donno about you, but cherries is not a dinner for me. Want me to make us something? We could cuddle and watch a movie, if ya want."

He pulled her up by the hand. "Come on, baby girl. Let's try to forget about it. I ain't goin anywhere and neither are you. We don't have to have all the answers tonight."

* * *

"I'm not really hungry," she rejected the offer hesitantly, stomach still twisted in knots from their dramatic tussle. "… but I might _get_ hungry if I smell food."

He had proven himself an excellent baker. If he made something equal to or better than that, she likely wouldn't be able to resist. Watching him dress so casually in such a leisurely item of clothing made her feel soft and warm for reasons other than the dark sheet she was still bundled up inside. It was comforting, no boots or stripes or ties to denote him going off somewhere that wasn't with her.

"Do you like _scary_ movies?"

* * *

"Course I do. Why don't you pick one on Notfox or whatever that thing is and I'll start dinner."

He kissed her soundly and scratched his gut as he wandered into the kitchen and started to dig through her fridge. He popped open a beer and pulled out some vegetables and meat he thought he could make something good from.

"Stew it is."

He put the meat in the oven to par-cook and started on the vegetables, humming to himself. He sighed when he realized he didn't know where half of her shit was. "Hey, princess? You got bay leaves?"

* * *

"Why would you put _leaves_ in food?"

Only after she pulled out a jar of large, dried leaves from the cupboard designated for seasonings and he realized she was fucking with him did she crack a smile. There was a twinge between her thighs when she walked, just like he said there would be. It went unnoticed before as he insisted on toting her around like she was this season's most fashionable handbag.

Lydia didn't mind. It made her feel like a "kitten"; cozy, protected and loved. A Nightmare Elm Street seemed perfect. It was a classic they'd both definitely seen and could, therefore, talk over without missing anything. Content to watch him cook in case he had any tricks to teach her, she hopped up on the counter to watch him go, impressed by how quickly he made short work of dicing carrots, onion, celery, and potato for the stew.

"There's a planter on the patio with fresh herbs," she informed, appetite stimulated by the show. "Oregano, basil, rosemary, parsley… I think tarragon would be good with that cut of meat. Oh, and that cupboard over there has some bitter red wine I didn't like very much, but it would probably be good here."

* * *

"All great suggestions. Go get me some tarragon and basil."

He kissed her sweetly, blocking her from moving for a moment before he stepped away to fetch the wine. He enjoyed cooking, even though he couldn't taste much now. Lydia could, though, and once upon a time he was a good cook.

He pulled the meat out to cut it and tossed everything into a pot to cook before hauling Lydia up into his arms and making for the living room. "Mm. That'll be a few minutes. I wonder what we should do…" He kissed her neck gently.

"Wanna make out like horny teenagers?"

* * *

She broke into giggles as he tucked his large head into her neck, plying at the sensitive flesh there with cold kisses that triggered her ticklishness.

"Yeah," she agreed breathily, tucking in her neck to block him reflexively. "I'm uhm… I'm sore," she said it like it was something to be embarrassed about. "But that doesn't mean you're getting out of fucking me tomorrow. You still have to do that. 'Every day.' You promised."

It seemed important to remind him of this in case he'd forgotten. That she couldn't be with her husband wholly made her feel absolutely horrid. Inadequate. Maybe if she could please him properly, she wouldn't be so terrified of him leaving.

* * *

"Oh, I won't forget, baby. Trust me, it's a struggle to keep my hands off ya." He kissed her gently, nibbling at her lips playfully.

"Now, ya said you're sore… how funny, I think someone told ya you might be…" He rubbed his chin, pretending to think. "Yeah, I remember… tall guy, ruggedly handsome…"

He smirked and nipped at her. "Tomorrow we'll play gentle, okay? Maybe I'll just eat ya out." He leaned back and sighed softly. "I need another beer. Will you get it for me, wifey?"

* * *

Sucking in her lips in a bashful smile at his novel request and nickname, she hastened to flounce off his lap and retrieve the desired beverage. It felt childish and fun to be running around her apartment in a glorified sheet with a man tremendously older than her lounging in his boxers.

"Here you go, hubby," she returned with more than a little sass, settling herself on his knee the way she knew he liked. She returned the favor of treating him like someone unable to care for themselves, lifting the frosted bottle to his mouth on her own so he wouldn't have to stop touching her.

"For the record, I think you would make an excellent Lord of the Underworld. You look good in this sheet, anyway."

* * *

He chuckled and took the offered drink before taking the bottle, one hand returning to roaming her thigh. "You're a dork." He kissed her soundly, pulling her higher into his lap.

_For the record, I think you would make an excellent Lord of the Underworld._

He rolled his eyes. "Well, thanks. I think you'd be a perfect Persephone too. You'd be real ruthless, I'm sure." He nipped at her ear gently.

"I can see it now. Lydia on a throne of human bones… She presides over the damned, judging their souls." He lowered his voice playfully, tickling her as he cackled, sealing the scene by grabbing her tiny wrists and shaking them as though she were brandishing her fists.

* * *

She giggled uncontrollably when he, once again, used her like a puppet, moving her limbs at his disposal.

"Shut up, dummy! Don't you know anything? Persephone wasn't cruel. She didn't 'judge souls' or sit on 'human bones'. She spent her time in the Underworld making sure Hades wasn't a complete dick to everyone. I wonder if they're real. They must be. The River Styx is real… apparently. Think they'll be mad we crashed at their temple?"

* * *

"Nah, they won't mind. According to Archimedes the all-knowing, we _are_ them, so…" He chuckled and shrugged. "I can take you to the Styx. If ya wanna go."

The timer went off and Betel set her on the couch to go and finish their meal. When everything looked finished he dished it out and brought a plate to his girl.

"Ya know, Hades supposedly stole Persephone away from somewhere around here. The people here used to do big festivals for her and her mom. People prayed to her all the way through the Renaissance."

* * *

"Huh. Neat. I think there are people who still worship Hades, but I don't know. At least, there's a Disney movie where he plays the villain. He's definitely more famous than the little woman."

She wasted no time in digging into the stew when he came bearing a warm bowl. The flavor made her groan with pleasure, the rich, savory sauce singing to her taste buds.

"How did you get the meat so tender. It hasn't even been cooking an hour!"

It was unfair. He must've imbued magic into this somehow. Normally, it would take Lydia's stews half a day of simmering to reach this level of tender, melt in your mouth perfection.

"You cheated, didn't you?"

* * *

"Nope. No cheating, just old fashioned tricks to get everything to cook down fast and tender." He kissed her cheek and took a bite. He sighed. Nothing. He could feel the food in his mouth and taste something but nothing at all like what he wanted it to taste like.

He slung his arm over the back of the couch and ate it anyway, happy enough to have the warm food in his mouth and to watch Lydia enjoy it.

He turned his attention to the movie for a while until there was a god awful scuffling sound on the balcony. Betel was up in a blink, ready to defend his wife and his home, but…

When he opened the door, it was only Archimedes, panting and hopping along the cement. "Oh… hey, Archie."

The owl scowled. "You left without a goodbye! The handmaidens are in a tizzy and the priest thinks he's done something wrong! You really should sent a note, at least!"

* * *

"Tricks my ass…" she grumbled with a mouth full of food, but proceeded to continue happily eating it anyway. The only "trick" he was using was immense supernatural fortitude beyond her comprehension. Suddenly, the commotion from the balcony startled her.

Who or what could that be? She was on the top floor! Then, the little black-feathered owl appeared, damp from the light drizzle outside and visibly upset.

"Archimedes!" She cried out upon sighting him and immediately rushed to gather a towel and cradle him up, gently drying his feathers. "You poor thing! I'm sorry! There was… something came up. We had to talk to a caseworker about canceling our divorce."

If anything, this only ruffled the poor owl's feather further.

" _Divorce!?_ You can't get _divorced!_ We would perish without you, milady! He cannot be trusted to rule on his own!"

* * *

"Hey, nobody's getting divorced! We just went through this."

He plopped back down, scowling at the little creature that had stolen his wife's attention. "Why are you even here? I thought you were stayin' at the temple."

"Oh, gracious no. I need to be with you if I'm to serve you properly."

Betelgeuse sighed and downed his beer. "Of course ya do…"

* * *

"Beej is right, we're not getting divorced ever, ever, ever," she reiterated to the distressed bird with dramatic enthusiasm, hammering the message in for both herself and him. "Archimedes…? If you know everything, how come you didn't already know that?"

"I am not an oracle, milady. I know all that has already happened, and what is happening in the present as it occurs. The future is beyond my grasp."

"Wow. Does it hurt…?" Gently, she pet the soft down feathers on his head, admiring the traces of blue highlighting the obsidian. "Keeping all that information up there all the time? I think I would explode."

Hooting softly in appreciation of his mistress' petting, he blinked slowly as if no one had ever asked him that question before.

"It's not… all the time… the information only arises as it is needed or requested… you are such a kind, caring Lady to ask, my Queen… see? This is why we need you…"

* * *

Betel smiled as he watched his wife coddle the centuries-old bird like he was a baby. She really was compassionate to a fault. He loved that…

He patted his lap, as he had many times before, to ask his wife to join him. "Well, if you're gonna be hangin' round ya might as well tell us what ya eat."

"I am an owl. Take a wild guess, milord."

He scoffed. "Ya know you have quite a mouth on ya for not having a mouth. And shouldn't you be nicer to me? If I'm your king you'd think you'd show some respect."

"You should remember your own respect, Aidoneus. Don't pretend I didn't know what you were doing in the temple!"

* * *

"It's our temple, isn't it?" When she made to defend her husband the little bird immediately changed his tune to address her.

"Of course, and you can do whatever you'd like in it, dear sweet Lady!"

That was some double standard he was keeping. Amused, she removed the towel, satisfied with his dryness levels, and replaced it with part of the sheet, bundling him up close like he really was her baby. Then, she resettled in her husband's lap. He was clearly getting impatient with how much attention she was divvying away from him and giving to the bird.

"It must be hard to hunt when you can't fly. Tomorrow, we can take you walking around town. The woods here are so pretty. You'll love them, Archimedes."

* * *

"Why bother with the woods?"

He closed his fist and then it opened again there was a mouse peeking up out of it.

Archimedes' eyes widened. Betelgeuse chuckled and put the mouse down. Archimedes scrambled down onto the floor to chase it, hooting to himself as he hopped after it.

When it was finally caught, he mantled over it, showing the extent of the damage to his wings. Betelgeuse frowned. "Sorry bout your feathers, Archie. Looks like it wasn't too comfortable."

* * *

Ouch. Lydia cringed and looked away as his sharp beak savaged the poor little mouse, ignoring the urge to protect the fodder. This was the circle of life. Nothing to be done about it. Unable to watch, she huddled closer to her husband and focused back in on the movie. With a belly full of stew and all her emotions drained, she wasn't long for the waking realm.

They'd been so many places and done so much. She wasn't even sure how long she'd been awake with their easy traversal between the worlds of the dead and living. Probably far too long, judging by the heaviness of her eyelids.

"It's been a long day…"

* * *

"It has…. let's get you to bed, kitten."

He stood and carried her into the bedroom, pulling his toga away from her until she was naked before laying her in bed.

"I'm gonna clean up after Archie and I'll be right in, okay? Close yer eyes and just relax." He kissed her head gently and tucked her in, a cup of hot chamomile tea appearing on the nightstand as he left.

* * *

She tried to follow his instructions but found herself unable to doze off without him. The bed was too big. She was used to squeezing up close with her big husband, either spooning or using his torso as a napping mat. When he returned, she was still sitting up, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and the mug held close with both hands under her chin to savor its warmth.

"Can't sleep without you. Cuddle?"

* * *

He cleaned up the mess Archie left and summoned up a perch for the owl to sleep on. He picked him up and put him up there with a short petting of his feathers.

When he got back he chuckled, seeing her bundled up in the blankets with her tea. "Always cuddles."

He slid in behind her, pulling her back against him with a kiss to her temple. He flipped on the TV and settled in, ready to okay mattress for the night.

"Finish yer tea and get some sleep."


	8. Chapter 8

The television was set to a documentary about snakes, the narrator's British accent level, deep, and monotonous enough to very quickly put her down. It was turned off when she awoke the next morning, half crushed under her husband's heavy, snoring form.

At some point during the night, he'd turned over so that he was lying half on his stomach, half on his side. The bulk of his arm and shoulder kept her pinned to the mattress. She tried to extract herself without waking him, but he just grunted like a bear and pressed her down harder, nostrils flaring with displeasure.

"Beeeej," she whined in a croaking, half-awake voice, pushing at him ineffectually. "I have to pee."

* * *

He didn't mean to fall asleep. He very rarely slept, but after using so much juice the day before and with his wife sleeping warm beside him, he'd succumbed easily.

He grunted and huffed as she tried to wiggle away, pulling her in tighter against him with a sleepy sigh. "No… stay with Daddy…"

He was very shortly snoring again, content to nuzzle into her hair even as he slept, one big hand cradled over her hip.

* * *

Muscles weak from disuse while sleeping, her efforts at squirming away were especially pathetic.

"Jerkface!"

She twisted and writhed, his ridiculously burly arm laying over her like a fallen oak. There was a layer of chub over it that made it a cozy cuddly limb, but hard bunches of muscle underneath made it immensely heavy when he was unconscious. Deadweight, so to speak.

"You… let… me… _go!"_

She wasn't getting anywhere with this, and her bladder did not appreciate all the wiggling around.

"Beeeeej," she sobbed out again without tears, "wake up! I have to gooo!"

* * *

He finally stirred with all the shouting and squirming and huffed as he rolled off of her, onto his other side.

In moments, he was snoring. It was rare for him to have time to sleep in any real capacity, so he took the opportunity, snoozing on while his wife made her escape.

He was dreaming, a strange faraway thing that seemed almost too real.

_He was walking through a garden somewhere, the architecture and planning were ancient and crumbling, but somehow felt new._

_He was alone until he rounded the corner to find… Lydia? Or a woman who looked very much like her, bathing in a spring. She seemed to glow in the sunlight, and for once Betelgeuse really felt warm, as he stood and watched, the nymph seemingly unbothered by his presence._

_He reached for her and…_

Just before he could touch her pale skin, he woke, staring at the wall blankly for several long minutes.

* * *

After heeding the call of nature, Lydia decided to let her husband keep sleeping. She had never seen him out so deeply before. Come to think of it, she'd never actually seen him asleep. She always passed out before him. Watching the way his hairy barrel chest rose and fell with each reflexive breath he didn't need was heartwarming. He was almost cute.

She took a moment or two to admire the sight before donning the dark silk robe from their wedding night sans nightgown and slinking off to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. As many times as he had woken her to the delight of a fresh, hot meal, it seemed right to return the favor.

"Good morning, Archimedes," she greeted with a yawn, still fuzzy with sleep.

"Milady! Thank goodness you're awake! Your familiar wants to eat me!"

True to form, Percy was sitting patiently right beneath the perch, tail moving in a steady swish and large yellow eyes slit on the would-be prey, just biding his time. That fat little plump of feathered meat would have to come down _eventually_.

"Bad cat, Percy," Lydia admonished with a frown, coming to the little bird's rescue by letting him settle on her shoulder. "This is our _friend_. Don't worry, he'll get used to you soon, Archie. We won't let anything happen to you."

Archimedes was not convinced but kept his beak shut on the matter, instead deigning to nestle into the crook of her neck and enjoy the attention of his "Queen" while she brewed coffee, flipped omelets, and fried bacon.

* * *

Betelgeuse pulled himself up with much effort, his rigor Mortis having set in with a vengeance. He wandered into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his gut.

Percy ran toward him and rubbed between his legs, begging for breakfast, and Betel filled his bowl with a point of his finger before scooping up the cat and scratching his belly.

"Mornin' baby. Archie." He scratched the owl's head and kissed her cheek firmly. "Somethin' smells great."

* * *

"We're having a gold old fashioned American breakfast today; omelets, bacon, toast, orange juice, and the staple of any good breakfast anywhere in the world... _coffee_."

She poured some of the liquid gold into his designated mug while speaking, leaving the dark roast unsweetened or creamed the way he liked it.

"I need to go back to the library today. I should probably check in with my boss, and I have some books I need to return. Just because I work there doesn't mean I'm safe from overdue fees."

* * *

"Ya don't work there no more. I told ya, Daddy's home so ya don't gotta work."

He chuckled softly and sipped at his coffee with the hand not holding the bow purring Percy. "Mmm. Great joe, babes." He kissed her head and went to sit at the table, letting Percy lay across his thigh like a rag doll.

He popped up _The Neitherworld Times_ and started to flip through. He liked to keep up with what was happening. "Library it is. But yer not stayin' long, those people don't appreciate ya like they should."

* * *

"But…"

Ignoring the inherent sexism of what he was saying, Lydia was troubled by his insistence she quit for other reasons.

"It's my first job. I can't _quit_."

Her father would be so disappointed… but why did his opinion matter to her at all? She would never be seeing him again.

"And what if—" _you're not around anymore_. That was an insecurity she was sick of verbalizing.

"Nevermind. It's not that bad at the library. I was just being dramatic that night. I was upset. It's really pretty, and I like being around all the books."

* * *

He grunted. "Fine. But you know you're allowed to quit a job where ya don't feel comfortable. People do it all the time."

He turned the page and snorted. "Oh, some big news story. The Prince left his room, who the fuck cares." In reality, he'd left the palace and three people were sucked into the hurricane it had caused.

He set the paper down when he was done and leaned on his hand. "Can I come with ya to the library? I promise I'll be on my best behavior."

* * *

Archimedes snorted derisively at the mention of this Prince, but didn't speak, focusing all his attention on the mini apex predator stalking behind their mistress, watching after him obsessively. Lydia's interest was piqued. This was her second time hearing about this monarch, and he didn't seem all that popular among the crowd she was running.

At Betelgeuse's request to come with her, Lydia blinked, expression blank. She thought it was understood he would be going with her, that it wasn't even a question.

"Duh. What if I get mugged again? I need a big strong man to scare away the baddies."

She was obviously teasing, but it rang truer than she liked.

* * *

He sighed softly and gestured her closer. "I ain't gonna let ya outta my sight either way, it just matters if I put on my living husband disguise."

He tucked into breakfast as soon as it was served, groaning happily. "God damn! This is amazing, baby… I swear to god, I hit the wife jackpot."

He grinned and passed Archie some bacon. "I dunno what I did to deserve ya, but it must have been good."

* * *

Without thinking, Lydia settled on his knee instead of at her own seat, sliding her plate next to his and blushing prettily at his compliments.

"Just lucky, I guess…"

"You— you will be taking Archimedes with you?" The owl requested fearfully, reverting to third person when he felt threatened. Percy had yet to cease his subtle stalking. He was laying across the counter now, arm and tail outstretched over the edge, staring, licking his chops.

"Of course, pretty bird," Lydia cooed, nuzzling her cheek against his soft feathers. "I said I would, didn't I? Maybe we can go by a pet store and look at bird stuff. Get some toys for Percy so he has something to distract him."

* * *

"Wait. He's coming too? That'll draw attention, won't it?"

Archimedes scoffed and ruffled his feathers. When he was done, he came out an entirely new bird.

Rather than an owl, he was now a large black cockatoo, his feathers interspersed with small yellow dots that looked like stars. "There. Now I am merely a pet."

Betelgeuse chuckled and ran his hand over his feathers. "Well. Good bird."

* * *

After breakfast, Lydia allowed her husband to magic her dressed, adoring his tastes. She would never pick colors like these for herself, preferring black even on her happiest days. Nevertheless, he always without fail managed to pinpoint exact shades that complimented her ghastly complexion.

Today he put her in a sundress of the softest, palest powder blue. The sleeves were long to protect her skin from the Italian sun, and her favorite choker and clunky combat boots darkened the look up enough to her liking. A black lace parasol that matched her choker protected her further from solar damage as they strolled along hand in hand.

They were at the pet store now, where the clerks complimented her beautiful cockatoo and said cockatoo was silently terrified to watch her take a few extra minutes to cuddle and play with the kittens.

"Look at this one, Beej!" She held up an all-white furry little beast with crystalline blue eyes and a tiny pink nose. "She's so _cute!_ She's like an anti-Percy! _Who's a sweetness cupcake baby fluffy? You's is, yes you is…"_

* * *

"Hate to break it to ya, love but that's a kitten. Not a cupcake."

He held out a hand to let Archimedes flee to his shoulder, scratching the bird under the chin until his crest extended and he squawked with indignation.

He pulled her into his side and kissed her forehead. "If you can teach her not to attack Archie, I'm sure Percy would love a baby sister." Archie squealed and pecked his head sharply. "Ow! Ya stop it ya overgrown chicken!"

* * *

Clearly, Betelgeuse was losing his sight in his old age. This was obviously a cupcake. Lydia would have loved nothing more than to pay the adoption fee, load up her cart with everything a kitten could want or need, and take the little cupcake home with her. But…

"The apartment's too small," she frowned, nuzzling the sweet little precious close to her face before hesitantly tucking her back in with the rest of the litter. "She deserves lots of space to run and play. Come on, let's go look at stuff…"

Archimedes ended up with a spacious, suspending cage that Lydia promised never to close the door on. He didn't need it, but it would help him feel safer from Percy and give him an easy place to eat any conjured prey without having to hop all over and catch them. Without working wings, he found the thrill of the hunt to be lacking. On top of that, she grabbed several feather, mouse, and bell toys for Percy, as well as treats all around.

"See anything else you like, pretty bird?"

* * *

Archie was more than happy with his new home but reached out to grab toys and a mirror from his perch on her shoulder. Betelgeuse was the cash cow. He paid for everything and made a note to remember that tiny white kitten when they got into a bigger place. All the purchases were sent home except for a multicolored rope that Archie was having fun passing back and forth through his beak.

He wasn't a light bird, so Betelgeuse took over carrying him as they headed for the library. He was good at pretending to be a normal bird, or perhaps he had been one in a former life. He regularly took the rope out of his mouth to lean his face into Lydia's and coo at her. Once in awhile, humanoid words or phrases came out. Usually, _gimme kiss?_ Accompanied by kissy noises.

* * *

Lydia was happy to kiss Archimedes' beak whenever he arched down beneath her parasol, seemingly becoming more pet-like the longer he stayed in this form. Being the weekend, the campus wasn't as busy as during the week but a few students meandered about, many of them stopping to gawk at their strange American librarian who had been missing in action for several days, the enormous barbarian of a man tagging along at her side, and the extravagant bird settled on his shoulder.

That she wasn't draped all in black like they were used to seeing her made them even more of a bizarre sight to the alumni. Lydia kept her face down. These weren't kind stares, not the way the people in the Neitherworld looked at her.

Francesca, a very tall, pretty woman with classic Italian features, was manning the front desk. Her boyfriend, an equally tall and visually pleasing person, was visiting, leaned across the desk to flirt and whisper lewd things at her.

"L'americana è tornato," she mumbled under her breath as she sighted them, expression falling into one of displeasure, then alarm at the size of both the man and bird accompanying her. "Lydia," she plastered on a fake smile once they reached the desk, "we were so… worried to hear about your accident."

Francesca spoke English well enough to have been able to find a better word than "accident" to describe what had occurred.

"Did not think we would be seeing you again. Not smart, walking home alone in the dark, no?"

"No," Lydia gulped, finding the entire conversation unpleasant. "I'm not staying for now. Just wanted to return some books."

"This is fine, but you must be taking the animal outside. Your… uncle, yes? You leave with bird. This is not barn."

* * *

Betelgeuse didn't like the way people were looking at his girl. The stares and whispers were far from friendly. He slid his hand onto her waist as they entered the library, Archimedes obediently falling silent.

The woman that greeted them was even worse. The way she looked down her nose at them made his blood boil before she ever spoke.

_Your… uncle, yes? You leave with bird. This is not barn._

Betelgeuse turned pointedly to address the boyfriend rather than Francesca herself.

"Se questo non è un fienile, dovresti portare il tuo cavallo fuori di qui."

He looked back at her and sniffed indignantly.

"Errore mio. Chiaramente, è una cagna."

Turning to Francesca he smiled, eerily cheerful. "Actually, Lydia is my wife. We won't be long, don't worry."

* * *

Lydia didn't quite understand everything of what Betelgeuse said, but she could read context clues well enough to know that it had been inflammatory. The boyfriend went rigid, fists clenched at his side as he assessed his opponent. He was a proper boyfriend, after all, and proper boyfriends did not allow anyone to talk to or about their girlfriends the way this behemoth had.

But… he was _awfully_ big. The line of his mouth squirmed with indecision while he held back, sizing up the other man's fists. Jesus, they were enormous. This guy could fuck him up. Francesca did not appreciate the hesitation.

"Stefan!" She shrieked after several long beats, much louder than was polite for a library, gaping and flushed that she had been so blatantly insulted. "Do something, tu figa! Non lasciarlo parlare con me in quel modo!"

"What you want me to do, Francesca?!" Stefan exploded, turning his frustration on his girlfriend instead.

"More than _nothing!"_

While the couple squabbled, Lydia silently withdrew the books from her bag and slid them onto the desk, then tugged at her smirking husband's cuff.

"Let's just go, Beej."

Francesca paused berating her boyfriend long enough to hear this and reacted accordingly.

"Yes, you go!" She kept yelling, garnering the unhappy attention of several students looking for a quiet place to study. "You leave and you never come back, brutta piccola maiala! You are fired!"

* * *

Betelgeuse growled. "Oh, she's fired? Would you like me to call the board and tell them you fired her for missing work due to hospitalization? That's illegal. You don't have grounds to fire her other than you're a bitch."

He pulled Lydia into his side and Archimedes hissed at the woman. "Or, you can shut your trap and keep your shitty job."

He kissed Lydia's temple gently. "Let's get you home, kitten. These people clearly don't know they got a good thing when they see it."

He stopped at the door and turned back to the couple. He popped a wad of cash into her hand and passed off Archie. "Head on over to that cafe around the corner. I'll meet ya there."

Weeks later, no one would be able to figure out exactly how that pig got into the library. Even more confusing was the way it had died, strung up from the ceiling in the Head Librarian's office by its tongue. The coroner they called to dispose of the remains remarked that he had no idea a pig's tongue would hold that strong.

Likewise, no one was sure of where Francesca had gone. She left a brief, shaky suicide note in her apartment, but neither she or Stefan's bodies were ever recovered.

* * *

Lydia wasn't that naïve. She almost argued. Almost spoke up to ask him _please, no, don't, spare them‒_ but it was too late. There was something vicious gleaming in his jade eyes, no matter how calmly he smiled and sweetly he spoke to her when he sent her off with such a hefty bribe.

So she kept her mouth shut and did what Daddy told her to do. A generous tip shut the barista's mouth on the matter of the peacocking fowl on her arm. It was a well-behaved bird anyway. He kept close and quiet to his petit mistress as she ordered a white chocolate affogato with an extra shot of espresso, a plain dark roast for Betelgeuse, a raspberry crostata to share for now, and an order of cannoli to take back to the apartment and enjoy later.

With Archimedes balanced weightily on her shoulder, a bag around one wrist, a plate in her hand, and two full drinks clutched secure to her chest with the opposite arm, Lydia was having a difficult time navigating through the busy café back to a table outside. Her diminutive height and quiet, polite nature only helped to make her a prime target for easily overlooking and bumping into.

It was a good thing her husband found her before she tumbled over someone's longer legs and lost the entire order.

* * *

Betelgeuse was whistling to himself, pleased with his work, when he saw his wife hobble out of the cafe, her arms full to bursting with her goodies.

He jogged to catch her before she could drop anything, taking the drinks and setting them down with a soft chuckle. "Woah… steady, baby… ya know there's no shame in two trips."

He took Archie off of her shoulder, figuring he was the heaviest of her load and settled him on the back of a chair. "Smells great…"

He felt like he was on an adrenaline high, nearly manic as he settled into a chair and pulled Lydia into his lap, kissing her firmly. Bloodshed always turned him on. "God, Damn… have I told ya today that yer beautiful? Cause ya are, babes, ya truly are. Most beautiful creature I ever seen."

He turned to the bird and held out a hand, as though he might get offended. "No offense, Archie, yer a beautiful bird but ya just don't do it for me."

* * *

In seconds he had everything settled and in order, including her, before taking her in a triumphant kiss that didn't care about sticking his tongue past her lips in a crowd of people. Then again, he'd stuffed it down a different pair of lips to an audience of giggling virgin sacrifices.

The memory made a flattering blush ruddy her cheeks, matching her kiss-bruised lips. The stark pale blue of her dress really made the effect shine. It also did not go beyond her notice that such deviance and mischief excited him. Whatever he did, she didn't want to know. He was sweet on her, but she knew there was a wolf in there.

"You're not too bad yourself, BJ," she managed to flirt back once she grew accustomed to his forceful pawing, working around him to get a sip of her sweet, cold, boozy coffee desert. The amaretto gave it a perfect hint of heat as it blended with espresso and vanilla bean gelato.

"Mmmm… this is sooo good. You should try it, baby." She had never called him that before and felt silly when it spilled out so easy, but it was already out there. "Here." she lifted the straw to his lips. Maybe that would distract him from his enthusiastic public molestation of her for a moment.

* * *

Baby? He'd never been called that before. It was cute, though it didn't fit. He dutifully tried a sip of her drink and wrinkled his nose. "Too sweet. You're all the sugar I need." He grinned and nipped at her lips playfully.

He ran one meaty paw up her thigh, taking the light blue linen of her dress with him. He was just about to reach her panties when Archimedes squawked indignantly.

He huffed and nuzzled into her gently, rubbing slow circles into her soft skin. "Whatdya say we take all this back to the apartment and get frisky… ya did say you wanted me to fuck ya once a day…"

* * *

"Beeeej," she giggled breathily. Pale flesh was turning terribly rosy and weak, soft thighs clenched ineffectually around his invading hand in protest. A familiar rod of meat was stiffening beneath her. It felt good and she ground down her butt down against it instantly, innocently, eyes wide and looking up at him as if unaware she was doing it.

The moment passed quickly and she was on to digging into the pastry before he could stop her.

"At least let's eat some crostata. It looks so yummy." This was said with a mouth full of the sweet, tart, flaky treat. "Do you like raspberries? They're my _favorite_."

Lydia was fickle and said this about nearly everything she loved, but it was still a charming idiosyncrasy.

* * *

He smirked and quickly moved their chair closer to the table, adjusting her gently until she could get a better angle grinding on his lap like that.

"Love raspberry. Ya know what I really like? Pomegranates. Seems like you can never get em anymore." He opened his mouth and waited for his wife to feed him.

The crostata was good, the fruit fresh and the dough just right. He'd have to remember this place… he wasn't sure if it was the marriage or her proximity, but being close to Lydia seemed to be bringing his sense of taste back.

His hand dug into her thigh, pulling at her until he could rock up against her gently. If he had his way, he'd bend her over the table and take her here.

* * *

"We can get pomegranates. They're at the little market down the road from the apartment."

Lydia saw them there while shopping once upon a time. They inspired an intense craving, one that made her salivate, but she denied herself ultimately. They were so much work to deseed.

She didn't deny herself here. This was easy.

Completely indulgent, she leaned back in her husband's strong arms, a piece of the buttery pastry in her hand, and rotated her hips down hard against his thick, clothed cock. Her thighs spread as far as they could between his spread knees under the table. The way her hips insistently but subtly rocked with him drove black satin panties higher up her ass cheeks and between her labia, pressing firm to her clit and drawing wetness to dampen the crotch of his pants.

A lovely moan filled the air. It was _musical_. Lydia put on an excellent show that it was all about the dessert.

"Would you feed me all the seeds and keep me forever?"

* * *

She should have been an actress with the show she was putting on now… he slid his hand higher up her thigh, confident that the tablecloth hid what it needed to.

"Of course… feed you all the seeds and keep you in the Underworld with me as my bride."

He nibbled at her neck, and down to her shoulder. Archimedes didn't seem amused at their little joke. He'd turned away from them pointedly, beak high in the air.

Betel rocked his hips up against her gently, stealing another bite of the pastry before sipping at his coffee. He was more than happy to let Lydia rock herself into a stupor in his lap. "You're such a good girl, though… I bet you'd stay if I asked you to. Even without forbidden fruit."

* * *

"Until Hell froze over," she promised, swirling her hips in slow little circles, shamelessly seeking to wet his cock through the layers of clothing and make him feel good. This was naughty. If he stood up to in the café, tall as he was, big as he was, his hard-on would be obvious.

Could she actually get him off here like this? Or would he be forced to show off for the public?

It sounded like a win-win situation for Lydia. She was proud of her trophy husband. Dedicated to the cause, she took her sweet, sweet time sipping affogato, nibbling crostata, and driving Betelgeuse up the wall. Like a belly dancer, she isolated her hips from her upper half, allowing her to go unnoticed as she massaged his cock with her soft bottom and slick, wet pussy.

The only thing that gave her away was a persistent rosy stain at the apples of her cheeks and breasts, and a quickened heart rate no mortal could discern. Other than that, she carried on like a perfectly polite little lady, replying _sì grazie_ with perfect pronunciation and a lovely smile when a server came offering water.

"I need to learn how to make this so I can do it at home with blackberries. Do you like blackberries, Beej? Mmmmm," she hummed deep and long, neck and tail ends rolling, lashes fluttering with pleasure. "All this Italian food is going to make me fat."

* * *

"I don't think you could be fat if ya wanted to, babes." Her subtly grinding and twisting on his cock certainly did its job.

He was suddenly disgusted with her choice of eating outside. If they'd been indoors he could poof them home with little suspicion. People who were at that table a moment ago may have left when you weren't looking, whereas outside they had many, many witnesses.

He slipped his fingers up the inside of her thigh, determined to make her cum first. The pad of his thumb found her clit and rubbed in slow, steady circles. "That's nice, baby…but you're being awfully naughty…someone might see…"

* * *

He was right. She was being terrible. Channeling some lusty, mischievous nymph, Lydia casually trailed her finger along the rim of the glass to collect whip cream and white chocolate sauce, then tilted her head up to let him see as she lapped it up.

"See what, Daddy? We're not doing anything wrong."

Something evil had gotten into her and it wanted its way. It wanted him riled up, all that mass and muscle worked into a state of wanting and aggression so fierce that he might forget himself and rough her up. Just a little bit.

"You're not… _scared_ are you? I guess you do look a lot older than me… and I've been the same height since I was twelve… what did Francesca call you? My uncle?"

* * *

He chuckled, his finger rubbing down and back towards her tight entrance, though he hesitated to actually penetrate her here. Her face always gave away what was happening.

"Ugh. Francesca is a bitch who doesn't know what she's talking about. Besides, as long as you know who I am it's not a problem, is it… gimme that name one more time?"

He loved it when her sweet, innocent mouth would let that filthy nickname slip, though she was acting far from her usual sweetness now. He bent to kiss her neck gently.

* * *

"Daddy," she sighed, sweetly, tilting her neck and hips, closing her eyes, and for just a fleeting moment, letting the character drop. His good girl was back for sweet seconds, pretty face twisted in pleasure, her soft bottom rocking shamelessly along his cock to force his finger past slick, abused flesh— then she was gone again.

In her place, the lamb-faced, naughty girl remained, pretending to be interested in her sugary coffee dessert and simultaneously complaining of weight gain.

"I could _definitely_ get fat. And then I'd look like a little blueberry next to you, Beej. Do you like blueberries? Do you like them enough to want to be _married_ to one? I don't."

* * *

"Yeah, yeah.. berries are great. I think you're like a little teaspoon."

His free hand held up the delicate silver spoon that had come with her coffee. He redoubled his efforts, eager to have that sweet pleasures face return.

"I suppose that makes me the whole tea tray, don't it? Ah, well… your metaphors are better. Though if you're a blueberry, what am I?" He pushed his finger against her entrance before remembering she was sore and retreating.

"A watermelon?"

* * *

"I think eggplant would be more accurate."

Her hips rocked ambitiously and she winced at the subsequent strain, still pretty raw from his pseudo ravaging of her at the temple. It had ended abruptly, not allowing him time to ease her down from that kind of attack.

"From a _really_ healthy harvest."

She could only keep up this façade so long. It was fracturing as her arousal built, palm sweaty as she clutched into the side of his trousers. The longer they did this, the less she cared about the crowd. She wanted to free his poor cock and writhe on it until he crushed her in a bruising grasp and returned the favor threefold.

It had been horribly mean of her to tease and corner him into a position like this, hadn't it? How were they supposed to walk away with him so aroused?

"Beej…? I want to go home now."

Her orgasm wanted to come, but there were so many people around. Could it?

* * *

_Beej…? I want to go home now._

He snorted, actually pushed nearly to laughter. She wanted to tease and taunt, but when he turned it back onto her she wanted to bail?

"Not a chance, kitten. You started this and now you're gonna finish."

He kept up his steady rubbing over her, not attempting to push into her again, simply providing the friction she needed as he whispered to her.

"It's awfully naughty, isn't it? All these people watching… and it's not like Calliope and her girls… they expected us to fuck. But these people? They have no idea… as far as they know, I'm just your big ol' uncle…takin my baby girl out on the town. That turns ya on, don't it?"

The moment she hit her orgasm, he transported them home. If anyone had noticed, they wouldn't be able to prove it. They appeared on the couch, and Archie squawked before disappearing completely.

To their mutual horror, it didn't take long for them to discover that they were not alone.


	9. Chapter 9

On the precipice of orgasm, right as her body shattered, the world fell apart around her as well with Betelgeuse's magical, instantaneous mode of transport. They were in her bedroom now and Lydia was more than ready to rip off her dress and get on with the show, but…

"Look at 'im go!"

A giant brute of a man jeered, even taller than Betelgeuse. He had Percy by the scruff of his neck and was watching with cruel amusement as he spat, scratched, and hissed to no avail. One of his little paws made it close to the stranger's bearded face, swiping through wiry red hair. The dead man sneered, shaking Percy with little effort.

"Watch it, ya little shit, or I'll hold ye under the sink until the bubbles stop!"

Lydia panicked. Fearless, she jumped off her husband's lap and ran to save her cat, not thinking of the second intruder crowding her bedroom.

"You let go of him, you dick! Stop it!"

With wide, delighted eyes, the stranger watched as Lydia punched ineffectually at his gut‒ which was as high as she could reach.

"Well if you aren't the sweetest lil'— _agh! Son of a whore!"_

While he was distracted, Percy landed a nasty slash across his forearm and dropped into Lydia's awaiting arms. She then kicked the intruder right in the shin and would have again hadn't a set of strange hands settled on her shoulders and pulled her away from dealing her attack.

"Heyyy, _hey hey hey shh_ calm down, precious. Nobody's here to _hurt_ anyone…"

The voice that spoke did so in an English accent. He turned her around, and Lydia's knees almost went weak. She was looking at the most physically stunning man she had ever seen. His hair looked like it would be heaven to touch, the most perfect shade of deep, dark chestnut, offset by pools of clear sky blue eyes.

"There, there, lovely… We just wanted to get a look and see the girl who's kept our friend too busy to tell us he broke out of prison… or _married…_ "

Those beautiful eyes darkened as though a storm were brewing, and he ran a thumb over her quivering bottom lip. She pulled Percy closer, no longer charmed.

"She certainly looks fun for a fuck or two, but _marriage_ , Betel? I didn't think you the type."

* * *

Betelgeuse was shaken out of his shocked stupor by the thumb running across his wife's lower lip. He bolted off the bed to pull her away from the Englishman and straight up into his arms.

"Well, sorry that the two of you weren't at top of my list to tell. I had to go to Juno first, ya numbnuts."

How did they find him? How did they get into his house? He didn't like this. Not one bit of it. Now he knew why Archimedes took off. If he'd known these jerks were here he wouldn't have stayed either.

"And you're really one to talk, Orion. Your wife is an uppity bitch. Not even death got her out of your hair." He kissed Lydia's cheek gently.

"Babes, go in the bathroom and close the door. Don't open it up unless I can prove I'm me. I'll take care of my poker buddies and then we can get back to what we were doin'."

* * *

Frowning deeply, Lydia wanted to argue some more but didn't. These men were both bigger than him, an impressive feat in itself, and he _knew_ them. Now wasn't the time to get in his way. Slowly, she backed toward the bathroom, Percy clutched close to her chest and eyes flittering between the three giants in her bedroom. Once in there, she shut and locked the door quickly, heart-hammering, and pressed her ear to the crack to listen in.

"Skittish little thing, that one?" The dark-haired one dubbed Orion seemed unimpressed, angling an eyebrow at the door as though the family pet with fleas had been sequestered away. "At least you have her better trained. Bella never would have just done as I said like that."

His bearded companion was definitely seeing the appeal.

"Did y'see the size of that lil' lass? How y'haven't ripped her half with yer cock, Betel, Jesus H. Christ. I could set m'beer on top of her head, m'cock in her wee lil mouth, n' have a good Sunday. A-fuckin'-men."

Orion smirked and nodded as if having been pointed out something he hadn't considered. "Ah yes, well I suppose she would be good for that as well."

* * *

Betelgeuse growled. "Get the fuck out of my house."

Nothing happened. The two men continued to look through the apartment, the bearded man immediately digging into the cannolis Lydia had brought home.

"Hey! Hands off, Rigel! Those are my girl's!"

The man just chuckled and walked past him on the way to the fridge.

"And for your information, I'm tryin' not to kill her on my cock, so we're takin' it slow! I don't want her scared of sleepin' with me, I mean… she's so little… I don't wanna hurt her, and you two aren't gettin' anywhere near her, so fuck off!"

* * *

This seemed to interest Orion further.

"You haven't _slept_ with her yet? Hm…"

The wheels in his head were turning. He was already thinking up schemes, of different tricks and illusions he could pull to sully whatever was left of the young girl's chastity. It wasn't his fault, really. Women loved him and loved being with him, and he loved them just as much. Sometimes they just needed help seeing how much they loved him.

If Betel wasn't using his wife to the fullest, he'd be glad to take up the slack. It was practically a charity.

"We did come here with a purpose other than ogling your curious mortal pet if you'll believe it."

"That's right," Rigel grunted, popping open a beer for himself and tossing one to Orion and Betel both. "Got a job fer ya. It pays."

* * *

Betelgeuse actually snapped his jaws in Orion's direction, his face contorting into that of a serpent's for a split second before settling back into its human appearance.

"Stay away from my wife, ya bastard. I find out you came anywhere near her and I'm choppin' yer balls off and feedin' em to Percy."

He leaned his back against the bedroom door, effectively putting himself as a barrier between the pervert and his girl.

_We got a job fer ya. It pays._

Betel tapped his foot with a scowl. A paycheck would be helpful. His girl wanted a bigger place. That required dough.

"What kind of job? And what's the pay? I want forty percent since ya broke into my house."

* * *

"Your house? I wouldn't dream of breaking into _your_ house, Betel. I thought this was simply a pretty cage for your little bird. My mistake."

His long fingers gracefully toyed with Archimedes' new pen. Betel was serious then. Ah well. He wouldn't piss on his friend's happiness. Plenty of whores in the sea.

"Deal," Rigel cut in before Orion's prissy accent and pretty-boy face could piss Betelgeuse off more. "Forty percent. N' we didn't mean t'be fuckin' up yer time with yer lil' cock cozy. We just missed our buddy is all. Didn't think things with you n' the lass was this serious."

"Forty percent is agreeable."

Orion had taken mantle on the couch while Rigel apologized on his behalf. The Brit would never do such a thing, but he appreciated the gesture.

"The job is debt collection. We made a deal with one of those noble bastards. We held up our end. They didn't pull through. Now, they owe us. We could do it on our own but heard you were out and thought you might want a cut. Were we right?"

* * *

He considered the options and nodded firmly. "Fine. I'm in. I got a wife to spoil now, could always use some extra dough."

He shook Rigel's hand firmly. He wouldn't give Orion such a gesture of friendship. That guy seemed to exist to piss him off. Just as his grip tightened, he pulled the redhead into him. He may be shorter, but they knew better than to cross him too far.

His eyes turned serpentine, a vicious smile spreading over his face. "Oh, and ya ever call my wife a 'cock cozy' again, I'll turn ya into a pocket pussy and drop you in a frat house. Her name is Lydia. Say it."

* * *

" _Lydia_ , ya touchy old goat, now lemme go! Told ya we was sorry! Lay off!" The poltergeist gentled up and released him at this, but his pupils remained thin and carnivorous. "Seems like a very nice girl, 'specially to be puttin' up with your mangy arse. M'happy fer ya."

"Yes, well, if we're done celebrating the loss of our dear good beloved friend's manhood and freedom, I guess we'll be off then…"

Orion made a big show of sighing inconvenience and walked right out the unlocked front door as if that was how he found it when he arrived.

" _Cocky fuck._ Aight, Betel, now don't be a stranger. Come lose some o' yer cut t'me at poker night. Bring _Lydia_ around. We'll treat her nice."

* * *

"I'll bring Lyds the day that rat bastard brings Bella."

* * *

So, never.

He saw them out and snapped the apartment clean, replacing her treats before he went to get his wife. He hated those two jerks. Once upon a time, they were good friends, but that was well before his imprisonment and meeting his sweet little girl.

She'd changed his viewpoint drastically.

He knocked on the bedroom door gently. "Kitten? You can come out now…"

* * *

Lydia listened at the door as long as they were in the bedroom. When she heard them move into the living room and that door shut as well, she changed posts to eavesdrop there, carrying Percy along with her the whole time. He was happy to play Watson to her Sherlock.

Before opening the door to Betelgeuse's voice, she followed his directions to the letter and asked; "What's the book you've been reading me every night before I go to sleep?"

He got it right, to her great relief, and she opened the door for him. It was additionally pleasing to find his big mean buddies absent.

"Those guys are your friends? You're going to do a job for them? What kind of job? When? Will you be okay? They're not very nice."

* * *

He was immediately bombarded with questions, and it made him smile. She seemed okay, if not a little shaken. He scooped her up and headed for the bed, flopping onto his back to put her on his round gut.

"Baby, slow down. Yes, they're my friends. Yes, we're gonna work a job… I'm gonna help then out with someone who didn't uphold a deal. I'll be fine. They're big and brutish but they're good guys."

He rubbed her back gently. "You n' Percy okay? Rigel looked like he roughed him up pretty good." He scratched the beast behind his ears, scowling.

"Ya gotta ignore Orion. He's a womanizer and he don't take no for no. If you ever find yerself alone with him you call me right away, okay?"

* * *

The bed, not made for someone of his stature to treat it so roughly, groaned loudly in protest. Lydia thought the slats might snap if he did it again, but was more concerned about this job and his involvement with men like that than to comment on it.

"We're okay. Me and Percy aren't scaredy-cats, are we, Perce?" He purred loudly, swished his tail, and nuzzled his mistress fully in agreement. "Who's my good boy? Gave that big bully a scratch right on his mean old arm. You're getting wet food tonight."

That the clean-shaven, English brute was a predator was gross and hardly surprising to Lydia. He charmed her easily until he kept speaking, oozing entitlement. It made her skin crawl.

"I will," she promised, snuggled up to his chest with Percy, one of her favorite positions. "I'm worried about you going off with them."

* * *

"Babes, I've been dealin' with them for centuries. Okay? Ya don't gotta worry."

He kissed her forehead and rubbed his hand up her back. "Fuckin' Rigel ate your cannolis. I got ya more, though."

Maybe he really was going soft. He'd been vicious on women in the past, ripped them open and let them bleed and wail in his lap, but here he was with his teeny tiny wife, afraid to finger her too roughly in case those pretty cinnamon eyes leaked tears.

He held her a little tighter. "Hey… ya wanna go back to what we were doin'? I didn't get to finish, ya know…"

* * *

Blinking at his complaint, sex far from her mind, Lydia struggled to get back into the proper mindset. Percy was let go and she reached up to wrap her arms around his meaty neck and press kisses to his stubbly jaw.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to… Cum." This was still a difficult word for her to say. "And for teasing you before." She was well aware that she had been behaving poorly for no reason other than that it was fun.

"Tell me what I can do to make it up to you, Master," she giggled at her own naughtiness, scandalized by herself, and pressed her blushing face into his neck. "I'm your _slave_ for the night."

* * *

He chuckled and brought one large, heavy hand to the back of her neck, holding her close as he kissed her forehead. "You're bein' silly. You know how to make it up to me."

He pulled her closer, his other hand settling on her tiny ass. "God, you were so sexy early, baby… grindin' on my lap like ya really wanted me to fuck ya…"

He was eager to have her, of course. Something old and masculine in him insisted he consummate their marriage as fast as he could, but something even more overwhelming told him not to hurt her. He wanted her first time to be memorable due to pleasure, not pain.

* * *

"I _do_ really want you to fuck me," she pouted back, discouraged. She was _not_ silly. "Lay back," she pushed him, insisting he get comfy on the pillows. "Let me take care of you."

Once he was settled, letting her do what she wanted with herself and him, she pushed up off him to shimmy her soaked panties off. They were uncomfortable, and would only get in the way. The dress came next. She needed to be completely naked for him, every inch of flesh dedicated to making him blow.

Stripped down, she set about freeing his poor trapped cock from his pants; unbuttoning the metal pin, pulling down the zipper, and gently easing smooth, cold flesh from his boxers. It was already hard and ready to go, pent up. To her knowledge, he hadn't gotten off since they played around in the bathhouse, constantly getting interrupted by others at every turn.

They seemed alone for now, but Lydia still had her guard up. She took him with both hands and inhaled deeply, preparing herself. He was a lot to please. Focusing in on the task, she squeezed, stroking up and down slowly to jack him off, and bent down to begin licking over the head, get it nice and wet and sensitive.

* * *

He groaned as she pulled him free of his pants, his eyes and hands alike raking over her bare skin hungrily. "So beautiful, baby… look at you…"

Her tiny kittenish tongue sliding over him made him pant, though he didn't need any of the breaths. He ran his hand up her lithe back to tangle in her hair.

His cock jumped excitedly under her attention. He was happy to let her take control, though he knew he wasn't going to last long. It had been too long since he'd gotten his rocks off. He'd had opportunities to make Lydia feel good, but his own pleasure kept getting interrupted.

"Fuck, baby… that's good…"

* * *

She didn't speak when he encouraged her, too busy suckling here and licking there. When she paused it was to force herself to salivate and provide more slick for her hands. At one point she stopped to lick her palms and fingers directly before throwing them right back into choking his cock.

Despite much maneuvering, she still couldn't get the head completely in her mouth. She could, however, suckle at the thick vein that pulsed against her tongue under the shaft. Pressing herself tight between his thighs so he could benefit from as much of her warmth as possible. All the while her hand wrung his cock like a wet towel, slicking up and down the girth of muscle in a twisting motion she thought might feel good.

* * *

His quick breaths got even faster. More salty-sweet pre-cum was leaking out of the tip than before, forcing her to pay greater attention to that area. He was going to explode any second now.

Her steady and eager work on the head of his cock did the trick. He groaned as she worked him over, his hips rocking up into her touch.

"God… that's good, kitten… I'm not gonna last…"

True to his word, it took only seconds more before the combined sight and sensation of her sucking at him sent him careening over the edge.

His release was once again generous, the thick white substance sliding obscenely over her chin and throat. "God damn…. that's it…"

* * *

She tried to catch it all, she did, but there were some feats too great for even the bravest of tiny mortal girls. As she drew her mouth back, choking, more continued to surge through, hitting her neck and from there dripping down her over her chest and belly. Some splashed wrong and hit her hair, which needed to be washed anyway so she didn't mind too much.

Her punishing grip on his cock softened as the spurts of pearlescent liquid started to weaken. Her husband was a panting slumped mess on the pillows, though he had dutifully kept his gaze on her every step of the way.

"That was a big one," Lydia commented casually, leaning forward to lathe his messy, still twitching cock and attempt to clean some of the fallout. "I shouldn't have let you go that long… I'm sorry."

* * *

"Nah, baby… not yer fault."

He ran his hand over her hair and sat up, pulling her up to kiss her gently. "Let daddy clean ya up." He summoned a damp towel and gently wiped the remains of his orgasm off of her skin.

"Yer gettin' better at that, ya know… yer gettin' real good at it, actually."

He'd never thought that he could be so turned on by a woman who couldn't even fit him in her mouth, but here he was. He was completely enamored by her.

* * *

The towel was white and steaming, but it felt dry when Betelgruse gently swiped across her skin, effectively wiping her clean of any remnants of his peak. He wiped himself once he was satisfied, then disappeared the sullied steaming towel off into the ether.

He said she was getting good and her cheeks couldn't have been redder.

"I want to be good at making you feel good…. You're really good at it."

He played her like a fine-tuned instrument whenever he sought out to pleasure his wife. She unbuttoned his shirt while he cleaned her, returning the favor in getting him comfortable. It didn't look like they would be leaving this bed soon.

He chuckled at her sweet, childlike compliments. "Well, thank you kitten. Makin' you feel good is my favorite pastime." She was pink with embarrassment and he couldn't help but chuckle.

He rubbed her back as he settled her against him, her tiny hands pulling open the buttons of his shirt. "You know, some people would say we've gone all the way. Depends on yer interpretation."

He pinched her ass playfully and pulled her up until he could kiss her. He was still thinking about the fact that his friends had gotten into the apartment so easily.

"Say, I'm thinkin' it's time we got us a marital bed. Somethin in the Neitherworld maybe…Ya know, with a house around it."

* * *

"We have a bed here."

His offer confused her at first. Drawing away from their kiss, she surveyed the apartment around them, from her mother's antique vanity to the snug closet. It wasn't as big as the one back in Winter River, but it got the job done.

Her attention went back to him soon, right as she started running out of buttons to undo. He looked good in just a wife beater; thick, hairy arms on display, unzipped pants dipping down his hips, and a still-hard cock poking out of his striped boxers. Delicious.

"You don't like it here?"

Now that she thought about it, the furniture was a little small for him. He had to duck under most doorframes.

"I could live in the Neitherworld. It's beautiful there."

* * *

For a moment, he was afraid that she'd refuse. Say she wanted to stay in this tiny apartment where Orion knew where she was and where he barely fit in the bed.

She seemed to be taking him in, so he flexed his arms up over his head, smirking as she looked him over. Maybe he could convince her that way.

_I could live in the Neitherworld…_

The sentence itself was an oxymoron, but he grinned at her easy agreement. "I just figure we can find a place with more room. Maybe get another pet like ya wanted… have a bed I don't hang off the end of."

He kissed her again and nuzzled her nose with his. "We can go lookin' tomorrow. If ya don't wanna see yer ma first."

* * *

"I should go see her…"

Her nose nuzzled back against his easily, almost second nature.

"I've been chicken long enough. Besides, it'll be easier with you next to me."

How could she be scared of anything with six and a half feet of sweet, cuddly poltergeist beside her? He made her feel brave. He flexed his burly arms, lips twitching in a way that made her insides boil, and what could she do but agree?

"Okay," she went limp over him, savoring the feel of those heavy arms tightening around her. "Mom, then house hunting. Tomorrow."

* * *

Betelgeuse loved just how tiny she really was. His hand easily rested under her ass where she was flaked out on top of him, her tiny feet barely brushing his knees, even with her head nestled into his neck.

"You got it. I'll be with ya every step of the way. We can go see yer ma, go find us a house… and then we'll move in. Perce can have a big ol' cat tree… Archie will have room to hop around and climb. It'll be great."

* * *

"We don't have to get a bigger house. I mean, if you're just doing it for me…"

She remembered the way he blustered and abused his friends, demanding cash. Could he afford a move like this? She didn't want to put him out.

"I'll be okay without. Or, if you want to find somewhere… cheaper up here, that's fine too."

Her eyes stayed on his white-blond chest hair, the girl terribly worried about offending him.

* * *

"Nah, it'll be fine."

He didn't want his wife worrying about money. It would make him feel like less of a man. He kissed her head and patted her ass gently.

"I got a guy who owes me a favor. He works in real estate downstairs. I'll just cash in." He squeezed her ass playfully. "Don't worry that pretty little head, kitten."

He found himself wishing he'd planned better. Sure, a wife and a house for her to keep and play mistress in had been a dream of his for a long time. Happy wife, roaring fire, rugrats playing on the hardwood floors. What man didn't want that?

But now he was finding himself lacking in his ability to get it for his Lydia. She deserved anything she wanted… and he wanted to get it for her.

* * *

Such an easy dismissal paired with flirtatious banter and petting made her drop it easily. If Daddy said so, then it wasn't anything to worry about.

"If we get a bed any bigger than this, you'll never let me up in the mornings."

When he was in a deep enough sleep and had decided she wasn't going anywhere, that was that. She wasn't going anywhere.

"But I guess if you have to have a bed you fit in, I can work with you."

Her complaints were petty and superficial, meant to tease him more than anything.

"Could I have a real herb garden, please? The balcony set up is nice, but I can't plant everything I'd like."

* * *

"You can have any garden ya want, princess. I'm sure there's stuff that grows down there that don't grow up here anymore."

He sighed happily, nuzzling into her hair. "Just you and me, big ol house. And a yard. We gotta have a yard for…" He hesitated then. It was far too early to be thinking about that.

He kissed her forehead and smiled. "For pets. I'm guessin' yer gonna want more. Maybe I'll get ya a guard dog for when I'm workin'. Someone to make ya feel safe."

* * *

Lydia would never turn down more babies to love. The more he talked about it, the more it sounded like an excellent idea. Thus far, everyone she'd met in the Neitherworld was very kind to her. Archimedes did say she wasn't "meant" for the realm of the living… but Archimedes was insane. Even the brutish Rigel and Orion were civil enough, though their brand of kindness left something to be desired.

"I think a berry and herb garden would be perfect. And catnip. Anything else would be too high maintenance."

The outright bribe of a puppy made her eyes go large with excitement.

"Really? _Really_ really?! I want a puppy! I've never had a puppy before. Dad never let me. What kind of puppy? When do you want to move?"

* * *

" _Really_ really! I told ya, anything you want."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. Apparently the puppy had been the selling point. "We can move in as soon as we find a place ya like."

He made a mental list of what to do. Pack up babes, cat, and owl and get them all settled. Go find a puppy and get that white kitten she was so enamored with as housewarming gifts. Invite the idiots over to see how happy they are…

That last one could wait a while.

He nuzzled her hair gently and smiled. "Better get some sleep. We got a big day ahead of us."

* * *

She was tempted to remind him he still had a promise to fulfill. Fiddling with her panties under the table at a restaurant did not qualify as "fucking" her in Lydia's book. Or at least, it wouldn't do anything to help her take him on fully. But, she was tired, sore, and they did have a long day ahead of them. Furthering along their intimacy would just have to wait.

Besides, they were having plenty of fun cuddling and talking about what they both wanted out of a house.

"Percy will like being an outside cat again. I haven't let him out yet around here. It's not a bad neighborhood or anything, I'm just scared he'll get lost."

Being on the top floor of an apartment building, he'd probably get picked up by someone before ever making it out the front doors.

* * *

Betel hummed softly and shrugged slightly. "I dunno if it's such a good idea to let him out down there either, but we can build him one of those things they do now. A Cat-io."

He chuckled to himself, patting her ass gently. "It's gonna be a real good time, babes, I promise. And we can decorate and shit…"

He thought over what he might want in a house and smirked. "I want a gym. Maybe a boxing ring. I can build it outside the house and when the assholes wanna visit we can keep em out there."

* * *

She unlaced his shoes for him while he spoke, tugging them off one at a time, then his socks and pants, until he was left in just the boxers and wife beater. There was something satisfying about undressing him for bed, climbing up and down his tree-like form to get the job done.

She left him like this, charmed by how casual and comfortable he looked, and snuggled back into his chest, naked as the day she was born and ready to settle in.

"A gym and an herb garden… what else should we have? How about… one of those kitchens with an island in the center? So there's a _ton_ of counter space... _That would be nice…"_


	10. Chapter 10

With their dream home laid out in their minds, and his little wife dozing against his chest, Betelguese found himself once again nodding off.

The dream was familiar and brand new all at once.

_He was once again in the crumbling garden. Now, he was able to see that the shrubs around him bore an odd combination of bright pink roses and deep red lilies, painting the space in a juxtaposition of color._

_He could hear the water running this time. The spring where he knew he'd find… who was she again? The girl… the one he needed._

_He rounded the corner and there she was, once again bathing in the spring as though expecting him. Almost preparing._

_He had to have her._

_Slowly, he pulled his robes away from his body and stepped toward her._

_"My love…"_

* * *

_The spring kept warm and friendly energy. It was her favorite spot to drown her sorrows. The maiden treaded listlessly upon the surface of the pond, allowing her shroud to be pulled along and swallowed by the gentle current._

_Mother could be so cruel. Sometimes it felt like nothing she did was good enough. She could be just as beautiful, just as powerful. Right? Or was she doomed to an eternity of playing silver medal to her perfect mother?_

_It wasn't fair. Crystalline tears streamed without a catch down flawless porcelain cheeks, dripping down over her breasts and stomach to join the fountain. She was so lost in her self-pitying and despair, the announcement of a male presence startled her. Turning with a gasp, she made no moves to cover herself, ignorant to the lusts of men._

_Why should she need to know of such filth? Mother meant to keep her forever._

" _Wh-who are you?" His nudity didn't appear to alarm her either, though she did stare curiously at the area between his legs before moving on politely._

" _This is my spring… you shouldn't…" She wavered the sentence catching on a sniffle. "You shouldn't be here."_

* * *

_She was crying? What could have possibly saddened such a creature? It wasn't right. Perhaps his embrace would dry her tears._

_He stepped into the warm water, crowding close to the nymph as she looked him over. "I am sorry to intrude, my lady… but I can't help myself."_

_His hands found her soft skin, trailing over her hungrily. His mind was made up. He would have her. He looked up into those wide, tearful eyes and felt a low growl bubble up from within him._

_There was a low wall surrounding the spring, and he easily manhandled her into bending over the structure, his manhood sliding between her legs like a snake through the grass._

_"My darling… I need you…"_

* * *

_She didn't understand what was happening. When he first embraced her, it was strange, but it also felt nice. She didn't know any better than to just hug him back like she and mother often did. Maybe he was sad too and looking for comfort._

_But the way his hands moved over her… intense and searching, squeezing her bottom and breasts almost to the point of pain frightened her. He held her above him at one point, high enough that her long, dark hair formed a veil around their faces when she looked back down at him, tears still falling and features crumbling with misplaced sympathy for him._

* * *

_He growled like a beast. For the first time, the maiden feared him. With quick, impatient motions, the stranger had her pinned, bent in half over a crumbling structure while that strange instrument between his legs pushed against her, seemingly having trouble doing whatever it wanted to do._

" _What do you want?!" The maiden cried in fright, trembling under the attacker's great weight and strength. "I can't help you if I don't know what you want! What are you doing?! Please stop! Help!"_

* * *

_"Who are you calling for, sweet girl? Who's coming to save you from me?"_

_With one mighty struggle, he forced the head of his meaty cock into her tight body, a rumbling moan leaving him. "What do I want?" He chuckled, a dark, animalistic sound._

_"I want you. I want to find comfort in your pain... does that frighten you? I want to steal you away and make you mine forever... are you terrified?"_

_A shove of his hips put him deeper inside of her, hot blood starting to pool where their bodies met. Betelgeuse's mind was screaming, shrieking at itself that this was wrong. He was hurting her!_

_But it was like watching a memory. No matter how hard he screamed, his body kept at it._

* * *

_A crippling agony unlike any other kept the maiden of the spring numb to anything but pain. She shrieked and writhed while he raped her, each savage thrust tearing her immortal body open to spill more divine blood into the pond._

" _Why," she uttered tearfully once he was able to settle into a rhythm, finally having beaten her choking, virgin body into submission. Over and over again, she whispered that word, "why", while the stranger took his fill of her. He must hate her to hurt her so much. What had she done to make this stranger despise her so?_

" _I'm sorry," she cried out nonsensically toward the end, as his hips quickened and that persistent stabbing ache in her middle intensified. Slowly, the painful instrument dislodged from within her and she crumbled down into previously clear water. It was tinged pink now from its lady's blood, the coloration darker red closer to the source._

_Brutalized and trembling, she curled upon herself, seeking to just disappear and become invisible to the world while mental and physical wounds healed._

"… _leave me alone…"_

* * *

_Just like that, Betelguese seemed to regain control of his body. He looked on, horrified, as the girl who looked so much like his Lydia curled away from him._

_His hands had blood on them where he'd gripped at her in the process of the brutal act, and they trembled as he looked at them. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."_

_He didn't know what else to say. Reaching for her, his chest clenched when she winced away from them. He opened his mouth to speak her name and—_

He was wrenched into consciousness, his chest heaving with distressed, unnecessary breaths. Frantically, he surveyed his hands, but there was no trace of the blood that he'd dreamed of.

He turned to look at his wife, curled up against him still. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully. He was glad to see her whole and undamaged.

* * *

Betelgeuse's stirring pulled Lydia to consciousness much more delicately. What a strange dream. She was distressed and scared within the confines of the sleeping realm, but as herself, watching such an event only made her sickeningly envious. Was she really so horny for her husband that she had to fantasize about him raping her?

 _Freak_.

Brushing off the voice that sounded suspiciously like Claire Brewster, Lydia winced over at the clock on the bedside table. It was an ungodly hour. The sun was due for arrival at any moment now.

He was panting. Shaking. She almost asked if he'd had a nightmare until she noticed the impossible-to-miss hard-on tenting the sheet above his crotch. Shamelessly, Lydia ran her fingers along the velvet flesh, nuzzling closer while sleepily molesting her husband.

"Bad dreams…?" Her hand squeezed. "Or _good_ dreams?"

* * *

Her hand sliding onto him made him feel immediately guilty. What kind of pervert got turned on from dreaming about raping his wife?

Still... he could smell her own arousal. And she didn't know what the dream was about. He settled back in against the headboard and put on one of his signature smirks.

"Oh, a little of both. Mostly good dreams... real good."

He reached out to cup her jaw, rubbing his thumb over her tiny plump cheek as though drying imaginary tears. "You gonna make 'em come true, kitten?"

* * *

Who was she to turn down an invitation like that? Smiling dreamily, still fuzzy from sleep in her mind and motions, she crawled up his chest she was laying over him and they were kissing; deep and slow and passionate. This was a kiss that wasn't rushing toward anything.

"I'll do my best…"

With that, she slid down, pressing soft lingering kisses across his neck and chest. She teased them both when the head of his cock met her glistening folds. Instead of continuing to slide down, she rubbed herself there a moment, pushing down and whining slightly when there wasn't enough give to get him inside of her. She knew it wouldn't, but she had to try, especially after a dream like that.

"I had a… good dream, too."

* * *

He nearly panicked when she tried to sink down onto him. He gripped her thighs quickly and hissed softly. "Easy... don't you hurt my girl..."

_I had a... good dream, too._

He rubbed his large hands over her thighs and smiled. "Yeah? Tell daddy about your dream. What did my girl dream about me doin' to her?"

He had no doubt that she dreamt about him. She seemed nearly obsessed with getting her tight little body slipped down around his cock.

* * *

She bit her tongue on the truth for a while, anxious to let it out.

"You'll make fun of me," she admitted bashfully, settled in against the base of his cocks and slowly beginning to roll her hips, making love with her husband the only way they could.

"It was _bad…_ but I liked it…"

The scene was dark and bestial, taboo to watch, but unmistakably enticing to his inexperienced wife.

* * *

"Oh, it was _bad?_ Why don't you tell daddy all about it..."

He smirked and leaned down to kiss her, his cock snug between them as she rocked in his lap. He couldn't help but growl softly, his large hands squeezing at her as he rocked up against her.

He pushed his dream out of his mind, focusing on the soft warmth of his wife and the slick slide of her arousal over his cock. He slid a finger down, lifting her up slightly until he could slide it into her pussy slowly, careful of her soreness.

* * *

She gasped, breath hitching as he entered her, hips stilling to allow adjustment for the intrusion. He seemed to have an easier time of it this go around, discomfort fading fast as she slumped against him, cheek pressed to the soft, wiry scratch of his chest hair.

"We were somewhere else, long ago I think… and we were ourselves, but we weren't. We didn't know each other. I was upset about something, I can't remember… and you came out of nowhere and just…"

She paused, remembering the way his dream self ravaged her without a second thought as if it was the only thing to do that made sense after laying eyes on her. It was a titillating memory, enough to make her shudder against him now, then slowly bring her rocking back up to speed to chase the waning pleasure.

" _Took_ me… you didn't ask or take it slow… and you were mean about it… I know if it was real, it wouldn't be nice… but _watching_ it was… mmf," she pressed tight against him, brows furrowed, and the pleasure she garnered from the vision was instantly clear to her husband.

"Does that make me a... freak? That I would think up something like that?"

* * *

He gaped at her, his mind racing. They'd had the same dream? What did that mean? She...

She _liked_ it?

He growled softly and worked his finger inside of her harder, eager to make her cum. "Oh yeah? You liked that, huh? Liked daddy finding you alone somewhere and just _takin'_ ya?"

His cock jumped excitedly against her. Were he not as afraid of hurting her as he was, he might take the opportunity to fulfill their shared fantasy. As it was, he could just hope he was making her feel as good as he possibly could.

* * *

Something in her confession lit a fire in him. His hand ground harder between her legs, forcing a thick finger deeper into her while his hips became more solid in their upstrokes, pulling her forcefully against him.

"Yeah," she moaned in a baseless, wanton way, incapable of keeping the truth from him when the rest of her was bared so eagerly.

"Want you so bad…" Lost in a deluge of want, she writhed mindlessly, reliving the dream, imagining she was impaled deeply on her husband's mighty girth. "Having dirty dreams about my own husband… how pathetic is that?"

* * *

"Hey, hey... stop talkin' about my wife like that. I know you want me baby, and I want you too... it's me that's holdin' us back, remember? I don't want... I won't hurt ya like that."

He kissed her as best he could at their awkward angle, licking his lips. "Lemme try somethin'." He wiggled his finger inside of her, sending a shot of straight pleasure up into her.

With the pleasure hopefully a distraction, he pulled back far enough to wiggle another finger into her. He wasn't able to get them far, but it was something.

* * *

Something magical shot through her, and for a brief moment Lydia knew only bliss. The little dose of magic triggered an orgasm, perhaps by accident on the part of the giver, sending her quaking and writhing atop him. When she came out of it, breathless and sheened with sweat, she found herself fuller than she had ever been in her entire life.

"Oh… oh… _fuck…_ "

Jesus. This must have been what it would be like to sleep with a man of average size.

"I need," she panted, pressing her forehead to his chest and attempting to compose herself, "I need a minute…"

Luckily, her muscles were already lax and pliable from her peak, stretching more easily for him than they might have otherwise.

"God… damn," she cursed, shifting her hips awkwardly when the strain started to lessen. "How… did you get… so big?"

* * *

He smiled as she fell apart above him, her body shaking and convulsing around the thick intrusion of his fingers. She was so beautiful like that... all awash with pleasure and amazingly tight.

"I dunno baby, always been a big guy. I like it, though. Don't you?"

Leaning up to kiss her, he gently rocked the fingers inside of her. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? For me to stretch you open?" He smirked. "Gonna take some time before you can take my cock..."

* * *

Her neck rolled as her body adjusted, ever-so-slowly edged on by his careful thrusting.

"Ungh…. Yeah… like…"

She could hardly think straight, clinging tight to his large, solid form as he rocked her through it, insisting upon her body's submission. As he played her to a gentle rhythm, the strain didn't quite go away so much as evolve into more of an exquisite experience.

There was so much friction, despite the abundance of her release slicking them up. Her insides pulsated around him with the aftershocks of her peak, clenching and releasing over and over again in a way that kept him from keeping a completely steady pace. Breathing deep and slow, she slumped against him, everything going lax in defeat.

Instinct wanted her to tighten up and rock, bounce and please until her womb was seeded, but that wasn't the right course of action here. No, he needed her pliable and at his mercy.

* * *

They weren't going to get there tonight. She was too tight and the memory of her blood on his hands was too new. He didn't want to even think about hurting her when she had been so good for him.

He rocked up against her in time to his fingers thrusting into her and he was soon reaching his peak, his body going stiff as his release again splattered onto her skin.

He panted as he carefully extracted his fingers, groaning softly at the way her slick release followed the withdrawal, a thin thread of the viscous liquid lingering between them.

"God, baby... see? You'll be takin my cock in no time..."

* * *

She didn't cum anymore after that first one, but it didn't matter. That wasn't the point of this. This was a training session. Orgasms were incidental.

It was beginning to lighten outside. If she weren't covered in his release and in need of a bath anyway, she might have insisted upon sleeping more now that his needs were seen to.

"I don't think a towel is enough for this," she huffed, trembling as she sat up in his arms, brows furrowed ay the strange sensation of her stretched internal muscles trying to squeeze around the empty space where his fingers used to be.

"I'm gonna take a bath. You go back to sleep, okay?" She kissed his nose, mournful that his rare slumber was interrupted. "It's still early."

* * *

He hummed as she sat up, taking his time in looking at her a while. She really was something. So, so tiny and yet absolutely a force to be reckoned with.

He ran his hand up her back as she pecked his nose, the thought of going back to sleep tempting, though he didn't really want to fall back into the dream.

He groaned and sat up, rubbing his face. "Nah. This was a great wake up call." He grinned and kissed her gently. "Let's get ya in a bath and I'll go make breakfast. Big day..."

* * *

As expected, he toted her to the bathroom as if she were incapable of walking, set her on the toilet, and took it upon himself to start the water going for her while she used tissue to attempt tackling some of the cold release smeared across her torso.

"Can you look at my stitches? Do they look okay?"

Her head dipped to allow him access to the area, which currently throbbed unpleasantly.

"I have the worst headache…"

Usually, women complained of headaches to get out of sex, not after the event had already occurred, but Lydia couldn't be considered "normal" by any stretch of the imagination.

* * *

He frowned when she mentioned the headache and knelt down to check her head. He sighed and put his hand on her healing wound, hoping the cold would help.

"Aw, kitten... it looks okay but maybe we should go back to see the doc. I don't think Yer head should still hurt." He sighed and leaned down to kiss her.

"But... bath first. I don't want ya worryin'." He could worry for them both. He'd have to keep a really close eye on his poor baby.

"Come on, babes. Into the tub."

* * *

The cold was nice, and she sighed, slumping somewhat as it encompassed and soothed her booboo.

"It's not outside hurt," she clarified, tapping her temple, though the wound itself didn't feel all that comfortable currently. Maybe she slept on it funny. "It's inside hurt. Probably just need to drink some water. I don't want to go back to the Doctor…"

She would if he insisted, but it seemed like a big fat waste of time all around. Maybe she just needed a good soak. She shouldn't have said anything, not if it meant he wanted to take her back to the clinic now. Using his arm as a balancing bar, she eased into the tub, hissing softly when she carefully dipped her head back and hot water hit the scab.

It was good for it, and the discomfort faded fast as she kept her scalp submerged, looking up at her impossibly tall husband.

"I'm okay. Just not a morning person. Water and coffee, please?"

* * *

He watched her carefully, leaning against the edge of the tub as he sat beside it to keep an eye on her. Seeing her pain ease helped him relax some, and he easily acquiesced to her requests.

He summoned water and coffee, and on top of that, a tray of breakfast pastries and sweets in case the headache had to do with low blood sugar.

"Well, I'm glad ya feel better. But ya better tell me if ya start feelin' less than perfect."

* * *

Lids falling heavy the longer she simmered in the tub, her expression lightened with bliss at the aroma of coffee and pastries. He knew she had a weakness for baked goods.

"Mmm… this is plenty."

Without wasting any time she snatched up an apple turnover and took a big bite over the edge of the tub to keep crumbs out of the water.

"You don't need to make breakfast," she extolled complimentarily, licking a dab of the sweet sticky filling from her upper lip. "I could eat this forever. Thank you, Beej."

* * *

He chuckled as she seemed to come to life at the smell of coffee and pastries. He'd have to remember that. He'd also try to remember that she went for the apple turnover first. If a few more of that exact sweet appeared on the tray no one could comment.

He poured them each a cup of coffee and sweetened hers with cream and hazelnut syrup the way he'd learned she liked. He passed her the cup with a gentle kiss, lingering there for a moment before he could make himself stop.

It occurred to him that stretching her open further than before on such a busy day might have been a bad idea. He didn't want her in pain, but that couldn't be avoided between her head and her newfound sexuality.

He ran his hand carefully over her head and smiled. "You bet, baby girl. Anything you want. I still think ya need some protein. How about some sausage?" He frowned, realizing how that sounded and summoned the food before he could further swallow his foot.

* * *

If he hadn't gotten so bashful so suddenly, Lydia might not have caught the innuendo. But he did, so she did.

"I loooove sausage," she flirted, going rosy-cheeked at her own gall. "The bigger the better. They just feel so good in my… _mouth_."

A spark of mischief lit up her face as she carried on, delighted to be participating in such silly, lewd banter. When he conjured several slices of cold summer sausage on to the tray, Lydia closed her eyes and opened her mouth presumptuously, waiting for him to feed her.

"Mmm…" she hummed as her nonverbal request was granted and he placed a cube on her tongue. She could still smell herself on his fingers. "I especially like your sausage."

* * *

He snorted at her obvious request and diligently cut the sausage and popped it onto her tongue. The continuing innuendo made him roll his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah… yer gaggin' for it. Eat yer breakfast so we can go see yer ma."

He was nervous about that… her mother was an unknown variable. She could be as wonderful as Lydia remembered but he somehow doubted that. He ran his hand through her hair and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

"Besides, after that, we gotta go find our dream house! It's a big day, kitten."

* * *

The headache faded, but once they were dressed and on the street on their way to the train that would take them to Milan, she had a different issue. Something less pleasant than butterflies were doing acrobats in her belly. Crickets maybe? In any case, she'd drank entirely too much coffee due to nerves and now had an awful case of jitters. Paired with the building trepidation the closer they got to the station, she felt she might lose her breakfast all over her husband's fine Italian leather shoes.

He took her advice regarding Mother to heart. A fitted Armani suit of the deepest obsidian made him cut a handsome figure. The numerous watches he usually wore were substituted for a single white gold Rolex, matching beetle pins adorning his cuffs. Along with his intimidating height and general overwhelming mass, the fineries gave him an extra facet of power as he moved along, chin high, holding himself much more confidently than his green-looking wife.

"The last time I rode the train to Milan, it was really crowded and this creep kept trying to slide his hand up my skirt," she gulped and squeezed his pinky, her entire fist wrapped securely around his smallest digit as she played that this insignificant thing was what had her so pale and shaky. It wasn't so busy today, and they would be getting a private car. Stray perverts were the last concern on her mind.

* * *

It was sweet that she was putting on a brave face, but he could see the way she was trembling as they headed for the station. With what little he knew about her mother, he wasn't entirely surprised. He squeezed her hand in return, her tiny digits caught in his larger ones.

"Well. We don't gotta worry about that this go around. And we don't really gotta worry about anything." He smiled down at her gently and kissed her tiny hand, having to bend to reach it. "You're gonna be just fine. Besides, it's Milan. There's tons to see. We can always go play tourist."

Something about this meeting had him on edge too, but he couldn't put a finger on it so it wasn't worth amping up Lydia's concern. He simply held her hand until they got to their car where he settled her on his knee and ordered them each a cup of tea.

* * *

Lydia snuggled into him like he was a giant deluxe teddy bear for the ride, savoring the privacy while she could. It was only a forty-five-minute ride, and Mother's flat was a twenty-minute walk from there. The not knowing was driving her up the compartment walls, though she did attempt to steady herself tracing the almost imperceptible light stripes in his tie, watching the gorgeous countryside fly by through the window.

"No, I've wasted enough time. I'd rather just… get it over with. Rip off the band-aid."

See if the wound was festering with infection or tough with scar tissue. Neither were very appealing possibilities, but it didn't look like there was a third option.

"I wish I could tell you she'll love you… but I honestly have no idea."

The horrible truth was that Lydia only had fading memories of her mother; a statuesque, powerful woman who commanded attention wherever she went, and she went often. Lydia didn't know her. All she had were scraps and pieces, an antique cherry wood vanity, and a thick stack of high-fashion magazines.

* * *

"Hey, I don't need her to like me, I got the best of the whole Deetz bunch." He pulled her tighter against him, hoping to ground her even as their tea was delivered.

"I figure we invite her lunch. I'll pay, o' course, n' we can talk somewhere neutral, y'know?" For some unnamed reason, he didn't want to stay on her mother's terf longer than they needed to.

After the tea came a cheese plate. With just the small breakfast in her stomach, he didn't want his wife getting so nervous she was ill. He popped a grape in his mouth before holding one to her lips. "Open up, baby."

* * *

Despite a prominent lack of appetite, Lydia obediently opened her mouth to every morsel he offered, slowly chewing and swallowing the food that then somersaulted uncomfortably in her middle. The idea of possibly napping on the way there was nothing more than hopeful thinking.

As peaceful as the scenery was, as smooth as the glide of the tracks and as gentle as Betelgeuse's coaxing, calm was simply an unobtainable concept. She was relieved once they arrived and she could walk again, put all her nervous energy into physicality.

Milan was larger than Pavia, louder and busier, but as every bit as rich with culture. Lydia was disenchanted, the sights no longer giving her a touristy thrill or awe.

"This is it," she stared up at the imposing skyscraper as they approached Mother's building. "She's on the top floor. Penthouse suite. If she's even home."

* * *

He held her close as they approached the imposing building, a soft scowl crossing his face as he stared up at what seemed to be miles of steel and glass.

"One way to find out. Come on."

His hand held tightly as he entered the building, giving the doorman a sharp nod that got them past without question.

In the elevator he pulled her up into his arms to kiss her, squeezing her gently. "Hey. We can leave any time ya want, okay? This is for you, not her. You don't owe her shit."

* * *

She was happy for the brief moments in the elevator where he was cradling her like a babe again, imbuing her with all the love and confidence he could give. It wasn't as though he couldn't carry her like this in public, but Lydia was embarrassed to be seen that way so he humored her and walked at her pace on streets and sidewalks.

The elevator dinged at the top floor, doors sliding open, and when she didn't immediately squirm to be let down and walk like a proper little lady, he took that as a cue to keep on strolling down the hall toward her mother's door. Her steps had become slower the closer they came to the destination anyway, so it was better this way.

Mother couldn't see her like this, however. Heart thundering in her throat, she squeezed him tight for one last weak moment before gesturing to be let down. She raised her shaking fist to the door, took a deep, lingering breath… and knocked. Three times; _tap, tap, tap,_ each weaker than the last as all the possible faces her mother might make at the sight of her filtered through her head.

They were all beautiful, but none of them were very pretty.

"Can I help you?"

Mother didn't even see her, she was so tall, only seeming to notice the even taller stranger standing outside her door. Well. Betelgeuse's size alone made him severely attention-catching, not to mention everything else about him.

Evelyn Saintclair— that wasn't her real last name. Lydia didn't even know her real last name— looked very similar to her daughter, and yet so different. They shared many facial features, but her mother was much taller and kept a darker pigmentation from days spent sunbathing. Likewise, her dark hair was several shades lighter, bleached by sun rays. Their eyes were exactly the same, though, excepting the almost invisible lines slowly making themselves known at the outer corner of her mother's.

"I am a very busy woman so, please, whatever your business is, speak up."

Lydia choked. She was frozen still with mortification, unable to find a breath of courage. She was so small and insignificant, of course mother didn't notice her. It was a miracle Betelgeuse ever had.

* * *

Betelgeuse was happy to hold her for as long as he could, wanting her calm and brave as she could be. But their time inevitably ended and before he knew it he was staring down at an older, bitchier version of his wife.

He scowled when she entirely overlooked her child, his large hand coming to rest on Lydia's shoulder gently. A long silent beat passed where he expected Lydia to have said something, but she was frozen in front of him.

He sighed and forced a smile onto his face. "Hi there, the wife and I were wondering if you're free for lunch today, my treat. Not every day some schmuck from Manhattan like me gets to meet such a high-fashion mother-in-law." He made sure to flash his Rolex, hoping her greed would draw her in if nothing else.

* * *

The subtle gesture of his hand moving drew her attention down, and that was all it took. He kept speaking, but Evelyn didn't have ears for the stranger's yammering.

"My darling!"

With that cry, she stole her willing daughter away from him into a crushing hug that pressed her cheek to the top of the girl's head. The woman's expression crumbled as though she might cry, but her eyes remained dry.

"My _baby_ , my _Lydia!"_

Initial enthusiasm exhausted, she drew back to take a better look at her, pride shining bright through those eerily familiar eyes as she drank in her daughter's beauty.

"Look at you. You're _stunning_. The spitting image of your mother." She grinned cheekily, a move that likely charmed those who might be turned off by her vanity, and started in on the questions.

"How did you get here? When? Does Charles know? Did that man say 'mother-in-law?"

Reeling, she turned her attention to Betelgeuse then, not allowing the girl in her possessive arms an opportunity to answer before she was addressing him.

"A little old for my daughter, aren't you?"

A liquid amber gaze traced over his expensive watch first, then his wedding band, the hold on her progeny tightening as she did so. Ordinarily, such a sight would ignite a flame of greed within her, if she were on the hunt for a bedmate, but… not this time.

Who was this rich, older man carting her daughter around the globe? Marrying her? Who had given him the right? Evelyn knew she certainly hadn't.

"Mom," Lydia pled bashfully, embarrassed that her mother would deride him so blatantly and without provocation, and Evelyn immediately changed tunes at her daughter's whim.

"Forgive me," she backtracked somewhat convincingly, fluttering her lashes and waving off her own silliness, "I haven't had my afternoon cocktail. Lunch would be lovely. Have you been to _Contraste_ yet, my love?"

As though they had never been separated, she carried on with her daughter, brushing a sweet kiss over her forehead that made Lydia's heart feel full to bursting.

"The food is divine. It's reservation only, but don't worry. I can always get a table..."


	11. Chapter 11

Betelgeuse was immediately uncomfortable. The sudden outpouring of affection from her Mother was the very last thing he expected, so he was forced to tote along behind the two women as they headed out back to the elevator. Evelyn was looking her daughter over almost critically in a way that made her husband's stomach turn.

"Oh, darling, it's so good to see you! How old are you now? Sixteen? Seventeen? My god, isn't it hard to believe I have a child that's almost an adult, I mean _look at me!_ We're practically twins, darling!"

She laughed and pulled her daughter closer. She bent to whisper to her, sure that the perfectly ordinary man behind them wouldn't hear.

"Sweetheart, is that man controlling you somehow? You just say the word and we can get a restraining order and you can come live with your Mama... we can get you a gig _in front_ of the camera for once. Those features of yours shouldn't go to waste for a man! Mine certainly didn't."

Betelgeuse growled at the offhanded way the woman fessed up to having practically abandoned her daughter. He crossed his arms, doing his best to force the smile back to his face.

This was for Lydia. As long as she was happy, he could play along.

The restaurant did indeed find them a table as soon as Evie was through the door. They cooed and fawned over Lydia in Italian, telling her mother how beautiful she was. Shallow, vapid compliments. They didn't know his wife the way he did. Never would.

He looked over the menu, unsurprised to find nothing on it under double digits, even for soup. He waved down the waiter and ordered a carafe of mimosas to start them with, hoping her mother was more tolerable after her "afternoon cocktail".

* * *

"Never," Lydia denied her mother's accusations without a breath of hesitation, aghast at the very concept. This was going better than she could have imagined, excepting of course Mother's distrust of Betelgeuse. She couldn't blame her. Any decent mother would have their guard up.

"He's so sweet to me, mama. We're in love. He's a _good man‒_ "

"Pft." Evie was unconvinced and patted her foolish daughter's hand sympathetically. "There's no such thing, dear."

They kept a safe distance from the son-in-law, the retired model thinly hiding her inexplicable disdain under the guise of catching up with her daughter. Lydia kept hope she would change her mind as lunch progressed. The compliments paid to her mother about her from the staff made Lydia glow and preen. Mother was so proud of her. It was addicting.

"I… I could _never_ do what you do," she dithered, shrinking at the suggestion she actually model. "I'm not… I _can't…_ "

"Nonsense! It's in your blood. No daughter of mine can't work her way around a camera. You'll be the shining star of Milan! All you need is a good agent. I know just the man. Don't you worry, darling, Mommy's going to set it all up for you."

She was already typing away on her phone, sending word to this supposed agent most likely and brushing off the way Lydia buried her sudden anxiety in a second mimosa.

* * *

Betelgeuse stayed silent until Lydia started to feel uncomfortable. He laid a heavy arm across the table, taking her hand to try and ground her.

"Ma'am. I believe what Lyds is tryin to say is that she ain't interested in a modelin' gig. 'Sides, we're gettin ready to buy a house outta the county. Doesn't make much sense for her to be workin' here if we're, say, back in the US."

Evie fixed him with a piercing stare. "I'm not sure it's your place to say what my daughter does or doesn't want. I don't know what kind of sick sugar daddy relationship you have with her, but I will _not_ let you ruin her life. God forbid you knock her up!"

She chuckled softly as though telling a joke. Betel didn't find it funny.

"Of course we all know that something like that doesn't end a career, does it, Lydia?"

The hand that wasn't holding his wife's gripped the table until the wood started to crack. _She wasn't staying here!_ They had a life together that didn't include her mother putting a leash on her.

* * *

Lydia felt as though she was being torn in two very different directions. There was the side of her that defaulted to Betelgeuse's judgment always, that wished to place herself properly on his knee, hide against his chest, and let him make everything better the way he always did.

Another part of her was desperate to keep Mother happy, sated, and wanting to be with her. For so long, she longed for exactly this, but the thought of accepting such an offer now only made her want to be sick and cry. It wasn't fair.

"I told you it's not like that," she insisted smallishly at Mother's hurtful description of their marriage, then blinked back budding moisture at the things she said after. Mother couldn't have known that Lydia wasn't even capable of sleeping with her husband properly, but how could she laugh so lightheartedly at such a thing? Without a care in the world? Didn't Mother know how badly she missed her all these years?

"I _want_ to be with him, I don't care how much money he has. I want to be with _you, too!"_

How very greedy of her. Desperate to smooth things out before they could escalate, Lydia bowed and conceded. How hard could it be to sit in front of a camera for an hour or two?

"I can try. Just one gig, to see if I like it. But Beej is right, we're moving. I can't… fly back in all the time for a career like that. I wouldn't be able to commit myself properly. I don't want to embarrass you…"

* * *

"But Lydia, what if an agency wants to sign you? You know how well I did before I retired, you could be just as famous as me!"

Betelgeuse sneered. "Maybe you aren't hearing us. We're leaving shortly. Moving away. Lydia wanted to see you while we were here in Italy."

He paused when the waiter reappeared to take their orders, but his eyes didn't leave the woman trying to take his wife from him. Surely that was what she was doing.

"We'll be here another two weeks. Do whatever you want in that time. Photoshoots, whatever, and then Lyds can make a decision." His eyes finally turned to his girl and his expression softened. "I'm not tryin' to make the choice for you, baby. I just want you to be happy..."

* * *

Evelyn was a creature of whim and fancy, taking what she wanted when she wanted it, unaccustomed to being told "no." As well, she left behind the things she wanted whenever she stopped wanting them just as easily. Lydia was no exception to this pattern.

This son-in-law, however, was throwing a wrench in her plans. Who was he to be making these decisions? No matter. Evelyn knew her daughter and she knew just how to draw her in.

"I know!" She tittered, cheeks flush from drink and voice a bit louder than it needed to be to talk over the useless male. "Why don't you come spend the night with me tonight, Lydia? We can have a girls' night! Do each other's hair and paint our nails and watch movies, _oh!_ It'll be _just_ like high school!"

Lydia didn't have any pleasant memories of high school but was enticed by the offer all the same. A full night just she and Mother bonding and spending time together, no work or husbands or fathers to worry about, just two girls having a good time.

Still… something in Lydia remained hesitant.

"Could we do it this weekend instead? Or whenever's best for you? Beej and I have plans tonight, I don't want to spoil anything."

A significant portion of Evelyn's mirth disintegrated in an instant. As if deeply offended, she scoffed, rolled her eyes, and muttered a petulant _whatever_ , seemingly over and done with the entire idea before it could even be solidified.

"I want to!" The emotional ups and downs were going to make Lydia crack. She was always eager to please, but no matter what she did or said, it looked as though someone was going to be upset here. "I do! I'm sorry! Please don't be upset, mama!"

* * *

Evelyn sniffed and shook her head. "Oh, that's fine, sweetheart I just... thought that maybe you'd like some time with just us. Just you and me like it used to be. You were such a _cute_ baby..."

Betelgeuse sneered. Who was this bitch? Had she always been so manipulative?

He crossed his arms and looked at his wife. She seemed so eager to make her mother happy. He sighed to himself and reached a foot out to nudge hers. "You can stay with her tonight, kitten. We can always do what we were gonna do another day. I'll stay home with the cat."

He smiled at her softly. "I'll bring her over after dinner and pick her up in the morning. Then we can go do our plans for tonight tomorrow."

Evie seemed to perk up, a smirk on her face as she reached for her daughter to pinch her cheek. "Then it's settled! Oh, this will be so much fun!"

* * *

Lydia skipped and prattled all through the rest of the day leading up to her sleepover with Mother. She was so excited, ignoring every generous red flag that had been placed clearly in her sights in favor of seeing the best in her beloved Mama.

She and Betelgeuse were spending the day in Milan for now. They parted ways from Mother after lunch with dramatic air kisses on each cheek, and then her husband took her on a shopping spree in the fashion capital of Italy. The girl wasn't so deluded as to ignore the obvious tension between her two favorite people in the world, but everything else that had gone so splendidly right made it easier to… hope for the best.

"She'll get used to you," Lydia insisted at one point while picking through silk pajamas, trying to pick the perfect set for her sleepover with Mother. She'd never been to a real, proper girly sleepover before. "She's just being protective. She loves me. Like you. You would do the same thing if you were worried…"

* * *

With his plans to go house hunting slaughtered like an unsuspecting lamb, he settled for spoiling his girl while he still could. After all, he doubted her mother was going to drop a dime the way she'd ordered at lunch with him footing the bill.

No excuse for bad manners.

How that shallow, vapid, scarecrow of a woman had produced someone as soft and delicate and kind as his wife, he'd never know.

He was picking through much raunchier pajamas when she finally spoke up, his face turning sour again at the mention of her mother. "I don't need her to like me, long as I get to go home with you when all's said and done."

He pulled her into him to kiss her gently. "Might have to have some jammies made for ya kitten. None of these are quite your size." She was so tiny, even a double extra small was loose. It was a wonder she could wear anything that seemed age-appropriate.

* * *

"I don't have time for all that, Beej!" Lydia stressed, wiggling out of his hold to continue perusing pajamas. "The slumber party is tonight!"

She carried on like Cinderella rushing to finish the chores for her evil stepmother so she could attend the Prince's ball, tutting and critiquing each possible choice. Eventually, she settled on a satin cami and short set by Gucci in the richest shade of emerald, her mother's favorite color, with a lovely black lace trim. It boasted adjustable straps and a drawstring around the waist of the shorts, so it didn't matter too much that it didn't fit her perfectly.

The price made Lydia turn a ghastly shade of gray, but as with everything else he'd bought her that day, he ignored any dissent on her part and swiped his magic little striped card anyway. Before too long, it was time to see her off to her mother's for their sleepover. They were in the elevator that led to her penthouse, Lydia bubbling with excitement as she hugged the knapsack he magicked there for her close.

It was full of everything she ever thought she might need for a sleepover; PJ's, toothbrush, a change of clothes, a book of scary stories, nail polish, and several hard copies of her favorite horror movies. Lydia was ready.

"You don't have to walk down the hall with me, I'll be okay," she insisted very bravely as the elevator crawled upwards. "I don't want you and Mom to get all pissy. I can still call you if I need you, anyway. Will you feed and water Percy while I'm gone, please?"

* * *

He kept a hand on her shoulder, sighing softly. "I'll go invisible. She won't see me. I don't really like this whole thing, I mean… I promised I wouldn't leave ya and here we are." He pouted, trying to play on her sympathy, even though he knew it wouldn't work.

"Of course I'll feed Percy. Don't you worry about any of that." As they approached the door, he sighed and ran his hand down her back. "Seriously though. Have fun with yer ma and call me when you're ready to come home." He kissed her gently and knocked at the door before winking and disappearing.

He stayed just long enough to make sure she was settled and then went back to their apartments to sulk, downing beer as though he could get drunk, petting Percy and wishing Lydia were home. It was strange being without her.

* * *

Lydia was very drunk. She could hardly remember how she got here on this curb in this far too beautiful, too-big dress, cold and all alone; but this is where she found herself hours later. It belonged to Mother. Green wasn't her favorite color anymore. Now she liked pink and had insisted upon this dress for their clubbing.

Confused by the change of plans but adaptable, Lydia adorned the unflattering color, happy to make Mother happy. They met up with friends of hers, other models and photographers people in "the biz," and Lydia glowed to hear how Mother introduced her as her daughter, going on and on about how talented she was and how famous she was going to be.

Everything got fuzzy after that.

One shot turned into two turned into three. One of Mother's work friends wanted to dance with her, but Lydia didn't want to dance and Mother didn't like that. But, she was too dizzy and Betelgeuse wouldn't like it _more_. She was going to be sick. After disappearing to the bathroom to purge her guts, Mother and her friends weren't in the same place.

They weren't anywhere. It was dark and loud in the club, so she thought maybe if she waited outside they would eventually come to find her. So she waited... and waited… and waited. The club was going to be closing soon. One of the streetlights on the walkway nearby flickered, the wound at the back of her head throbbed, and a shot of fear ran up her spine.

She couldn't keep sitting here. It was time to face the truth. Mother was gone, she'd been gone for a long time, and she was never coming back.

"B… Betelgeuse…"

* * *

Betel spent the hours she was gone being lectured by Archimedes. Everything the little owl said from his perch on top of his cage only deepened the dread in the pit of Betelgeuse's chest.

Something didn't feel right. He didn't want her to be off with her mother. She didn't belong with her, she belonged with him. Always.

Archimedes was still squawking about the lady of the harvest and how his mistress would only be given pain when he heard his girl's voice echo in his mind. He hadn't expected her to call so soon. Something wasn't right.

He set his beer down and in a flash he was... where the hell were they? There was a club behind him just starting to close down with the small hours of the morning being as they were, and there on the curb...

"Oh, tesoro... what happened baby?"

His little wife in a pile of pink fabric, absolutely not what he'd left her in. A quick glance around confirmed for him that her mother was AWOL. He growled softly and picked her up, careful of her head. How could her mother let her drink? She had a brain injury!

"Hey... hey, kitten. Look at me. Let's get you home, okay?"

* * *

Tears started falling and they didn't stop. Once again, she was an emotional drunk wreck to be tended to by her patient, ever-loving husband.

"I don't know," she sobbed, the horrible sound of it silencing any " _I told you so"_ 's Archimedes might have prepared for his Master. Instead, the little bird bowed his head in respectful deference, unable to watch as his Lady crumbled to pieces.

"She _left_. I think she got mad at me."

Each breath was sharp and painful like a knife had been plunged deep in her chest and these were her last.

"I thought she would come, but she _left_. Why did she leave me, Beej? Why doesn't she want me?!"

Becoming more and more hysterical with each passing moment, she shattered in his arms, limp except for the compulsory shivers wracking her form with each mournful sob and shuddering breath.

_"Why doesn't she want me...?"_

* * *

He didn't know what to do. It seemed to him, as she fell apart, that all he could do was hold her and let her cry. There was no other option. There was no comfort he could offer her other than his presence.

He rubbed her tiny back and slowly worked on the zipper in the back of the too-large dress, eager to get rid of any trace of Evelyn. "She don't know what a good thing she's got, baby doll. She don't deserve you."

He peeled the satin away from her chest and carefully maneuvered her until the dress slid free and pooled on the floor where it promptly burned to ash in moments. "She's shallow and you're too good for her."

He pulled her back in against his chest, rocking her gently. He wished he could fix this... but how did you fix abandonment? At the heart of everything, Lydia was young and wanted her mother to love her. He wished he could make it happen for her.

* * *

Grief swallowed her. She cried until she lost consciousness, and then she cried some more, releasing scared little wails intermittently throughout the night while her husband held her through it, always there to hush and balm her residual pain as best he could.

She awoke early, head pounding and eyes stinging from dryness. Her throat burned and her mouth tasted like death. Betelgeuse was already— still— awake, looking at her as though he was afraid breathing too hard in her direction might hurt her.

"It wasn't a dream."

Her voice croaked painfully, harsh from wailing. Impossibly, tired tear ducts found more tears and she turned away from him to shed them, embarrassed. She was so stupid, and he'd been there to bear witness to all of her great foolishness and the misery it wrought her.

"We can look at houses today… I don't want to be here anymore… Italy is dumb…"

* * *

He was awake with her all night, afraid to sleep in case his wife needed him. He rubbed her back every time she fussed, kissing her head and rocking her back to sleep.

When it seemed she was awake for good, her sorrowful eyes turning to him as she realized where she was and why, he swore his old dead heart shattered.

"Aw, kitten... I'm so sorry."

He pulled her back into him as she turned away, manhandling her up into his arms to cradle her against his chest like a child. "Hey. Anywhere you wanna go, just say the word. We can leave and never come back."

A black and white handkerchief appeared from thin air and he delicately wiped her tears as she continued to leak from her eyes, the sorrow so painful to him that he could almost cry himself.

* * *

"I don't… I don't want anyone to look at me."

If they did, they would surely see how undesirable she was, how immensely stupid and ugly, how easy it was to leave her. Only Betelgeuse's beautiful jade gaze was safe. And Percy. When the little furball came mewing, excited to see his mistress awake and conscious again, she made room to allow him in her lap, squeezing him to her just a bit too tight.

"Take me somewhere secret… somewhere only you know about…"

Only he could be trusted. No one had ever loved her as he did. No one had ever loved her period. She thought Mother did… but she was _fucking stupid_.

"Can I have some water please?"

* * *

He summoned an entire breakfast tray, water, orange juice, and coffee all to fix her hangover and hurts. Her favorite apple turnovers were plated nearly beside a bowl of fresh fruit.

"I know a place but... it ain't exactly wife ready so you'll have to forgive me."

He smiled weakly, leaning in to kiss her. "No people though. So that's a plus." In a flash, their whole home and all their belongings were transported to what appeared to be the ultimate in bachelor pads.

The walls were made of dirt, and there was no ceiling to speak of. A ratty couch was hastily replaced with their nicer one and he set about picking up the empty beer bottles and takeaway containers.

"It ain't much but... I can change it. A little..."

He stood in the center of the room and focused, a wall protruding into the middle of the small space. "See? Bedroom... yeah... gimme some time, we can go find somethin' better."

* * *

"It's perfect."

There was no shift in inflection, voice void of anything that could resemble light or happiness. Somehow, she managed to gather enough energy to swish some water around in her mouth and spit it onto the already filthy dirt floor, then toss back a third of the bottle before returning to her protective ball. The rest of the tray was ignored.

Percy was more interested in exploring than cuddling, so she let him go, immediately missing the warmth of his fur under her chin.

"Is this… your grave?"

What else could it be? It's the only thing that made sense; a giant dirt hole in the ground with no windows or doors, only an endless abyss of darkness to serve as a ceiling.

"I like it. Let's just stay here."

She wouldn't waste any more of his time looking for some beautiful, happy home that wouldn't last anyway. It was only a matter of time until he left too. Idly, she toyed with the wall, gently petting a little worm as it wriggled its way in.

"Poor baby," she cooed the grub in a gentle hush, deriving comfort from projecting all of her pain and sorrow onto it instead. "Are you lost? Do you know where your mama is? You'll find her… just have to keep digging..."

* * *

Betel was heartbroken. Nothing he tried perked her up at all. She was numb... and he couldn't fix it. That was worse than anything he'd ever been through.

He watched as she spoke to the little worm, hastily trying to make the apartment livable. He vanished all the trash and made a kitchen materialize before having to stagger back to the bed and sit down. Using so much juice at once wasn't his best idea, but he wanted his wife to be happy.

He sighed and leaned his chin in one massive hand. "But, little wormy... it's important to remember that you don't owe your mother anythin'. So if she was cruel to you, you don't gotta forgive her or wanna go back to see her."

He frowned, pointing at the grub accusingly. "In fact, maybe you should go find your husband worm and he can try t'make that shit easier even though he's got no fucking idea how."

* * *

It was sweet of him to put in all this effort, but it was wasted on his emotionally crippled wife. A fresh bout of tears arose out of nowhere, and Lydia knew of no better reward for his persistent care than to bury them in his chest.

After a while, he was able to cajole her into eating just a bit, half of a turnover and a couple of cubes of cheese. No luck past that, though. It tasted like ash on her tongue and she longed to spit it out but knew better. Eventually, all the despair became too much and she was once more dragged into unconsciousness in a wave of ceaseless, merciless tears.

* * *

"… _leave me alone…"_

_Everything hurt. Breathing hurt. Crying hurt. Thinking and talking and attempting to make sense of what had just happened hurt._

_The cruel stranger was still there, stumbling over apologies as though he actually meant them, and all she wanted was for him to shut his filthy mouth._

" _You're not… you're not sorry… you're evil… and cruel… and I_ _ **hate**_ _you!"_

_Sharp words were all she had as a line of defense, though they came out more pathetic than threatening on her quaking tongue._

" _Mama," she cried harder when he still wouldn't leave, curling around her aching middle, "I want… I want my mama!"_

* * *

Betelgeuse had curled around his wife as she slept, his hulking shape almost humorous in the way he tried to be as gentle as possible. With everything that had happened, he found himself once again dozing and waking up in the garden.

* * *

_She was crying, hurt. He'd done this... the blood was still on his hands. He hastened to try and comfort her, but nothing seemed to do._

_She was calling for her... mother? Did nymphs have mothers? They didn't. This was bad. He violated something that wasn't within his right to do so._

_"My lady, please. Stop. You... you can't call her here." Was this girl a demigod? A forgotten child of his own brother? It seemed likely. His head ached. All he could think to do was pull her into his arms and vanish._

_They reappeared in the depths of his palace, his own private chambers. The Shades that attended him scattered, shocked by his sudden appearance._

_A large, three-headed dog nearly as tall as the beauty in his arms bounded up and over to them, wagging a massive shaggy tail. He pushed at the middle head that was snuffling between her legs and pulled her to the large bed in the center of the room._

_"My lady, won't you grace me with your name?"_

* * *

_They weren't in her spring anymore. The stranger had taken her. It was a palace, much like Olympus, but so very different. Where the mountain she called home shone with the everlasting light of divinity and glory, this was a pit of darkness and despair. This was the kingdom of the dead._

" _Mama," she continued to whimper uselessly, knowing she wouldn't be heard from the shadows._

_She knew where she was now, who she was with. Who else could it be? There would be no returning from here. The only comfort she claimed, selfishly so, was his dog. When the beast came padding onto the immense bed, the injured maiden held him close as if the sympathetic hound was her desired mother, drowning her pained, fearful tears in his swathe of black fur._

" _K-Kore," she stuttered over the short, unimpressive name, pausing to think if she had anything more substantial to add to her title. The Lord of the Underworld had chosen her, and she did not wish to see what might happen if she displeased him. Mother was powerful, but she was no match for any of her brothers._

" _I... I am K-Kore of the g-grain, my Lord. Daughter of Demeter and Zeus, and m-maiden of the harvest…"_

* * *

_My lord. Kore. Things seemed to snap into place suddenly, and he knew he wasn't Betelgeuse here... he was Hades. God of the Dead. King of the Underworld... and he'd just stolen a woman away from her life._

_He hesitantly sat beside her, patting one of the dog's heads only to be growled at as the beast snuggled closer to the maiden now laid out on his soft silk sheets._

_"Kore... please don't address me so. Call me Hades... or husband. I would like to have you for my bride." His voice echoed in his mind, overlaid by the conversation he'd had with Lydia when he convinced her to marry him. Was this so different?_

_"I know it will be hard for you to be here at first, but I swear to you... I want your life to be one of happiness. You'll want for nothing, my Persephone. I promise."_

_He didn't know why the name sounded so much more smooth on his tongue. "You are no longer simply Kore, my darling. You are my queen. You are more than your parentage."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret to inform those of you who have been following along that this roleplay has been discontinued by my partner and I due to lack of inspiration and interest. There's more of it written, but since we're not actively writing it anymore, this seemed like the best place to stop. It's not set in stone that we'll never write more for this, but as of right now, consider this tale in **indefinite hiatus**. Thank you so much, everyone, who has taken the time to stop and read. We both had a lot of fun writing this.


End file.
